


Awaken the Wolverine

by Malganis84, SpartanAltego



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Drama, Families of Choice, Gen, Mood Setting Music, POV Second Person, Redemption, Roleplay Logs, Roleplaying Character, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-01-04 21:38:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 108,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18352217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malganis84/pseuds/Malganis84, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpartanAltego/pseuds/SpartanAltego
Summary: “You were sent to kill me, my friend.” Charles smiles, in that curious little way that he would, trying to protect you from his pain. “And you, unfortunately, succeeded.”In the year of 2017, mutant-kind lives in hiding as a nuclear Great War brews between expansionist America and communist China for control of the world's resources. Awakening to a shattered mind and the blood of one of the greatest mutants to live on his hands, James Howlett must decide his nature as a warrior, a predator, and a leader if he is to fulfill his promise to the man who gave him back his life. It's not the end of the world, but you can see it from here.





	1. Within the Mind's Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: as the story is set from the POV of our protagonist, certain language choices will be less than socially ideal. This language will fade over time as character development progresses.
> 
> Thank you, and enjoy.

Awaken the Wolverine

Chapter I: Within the Mind’s Eye

 

[A blinding, burning pain washed over you.](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dm7ZMh6_cEr0%26index%3D64%26list%3DPLSwp-DAqmwVhW0CbVxW3sBlNomFsZ7Zjc&t=MGQ5NWNmYzVhZmFlNGI5Y2E4ZDkzNzMzMTM4NTk1MGNiYjcxOTg2OCxwMXozWVkyWQ%3D%3D&b=t%3Axi3AzCzi9Wm18h93bATJBw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwolverinequest.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F161646567354%2Fwithin-the-minds-eye&m=1) It was in every pore of your skin, deep into the marrow of your bones. The pain was familiar but it was not comforting. You couldn’t hear your screams through the pain, but you could feel them through the pain. What you could hear was two voices…

“We should destroy him.” One said, his voice young and filled with rage. He smelled of ozone and conceit. You thought you could hear someone whispering beside him, trying to soothe you.

“There will be none of that, Scott,” A tired voice replied, older and seasoned. “We have… We have rules. Laws. Mutant shall not kill mutant.”

 _Can you hear me?_  A voice whispered again.  _Say something…_

“But he killed them! He fucking _butchered_ them!” The younger one, Scott, said venomously. 

“…” The old man paused for a moment before continuing his ministrations. “Mutant shall not kill mutant. Caliban has spoken and his senses cannot fail.” 

“That doesn’t mean-” The boy’s voice is caught off as you drift deeper into the sea of blinding pain. But the further you drift, angry, afraid, and lost…the louder the other voice speaks.

 _Can you hear me now?_  He sounds, warm…friendly. He is a comforting presence.  _Don’t worry…everything is going to be okay._

His kindness is the first you feel like you’ve known… But…perhaps you’re wrong about that. You somehow feel that there was kindness before, long ago. 

_Don’t go down that path yet, friend. We have a long way to go…._

You drift into darkness…

**_ XxXxX _ **

When the light seeps through your eyelids, you feel as if someone stabbed your retinas. You awaken with a snarl, remembering…what? You weren’t entirely sure. Something was…important, but you couldn’t remember what it was, or why it was even worth remembering. You’re so lost in your thoughts for a moment that you fail to notice the bald, wheel-chair bound man sitting beside you.

“Good morning,” he welcomes with a gentle smile. “Don’t be alarmed now.” You two were alone in the room, which was adjacent to a garden you could tell from the smell. Rich herbs, fruits, the scent of petrichor. It rained the night before. Sitting up further in bed, you see that the room is paneled with cherry-colored wood with gold leaf trim. A desk was across the room from your bed, with the bald man sitting between you and the other piece of furniture.

He raises a hand slowly. “I understand you have many questions, and I urge you to choose your first one carefully. That said, I’d like to introduce myself,” he extends his hand out to you. “My name is Charles.”

You carefully study this ‘Charles,’ and ignore his outstretched hand. There were more important things to be dealt with before you even thought of engaging in pleasantries. “What’s going on?” Your voice comes out scratchy and raw, barely above a whisper. You look down, clutching your throat, and see that you are a broadly-shouldered man with a generous growth of wiry black hair across your body. Stubble ran down your face to your neckline and felt like sandpaper under your calloused hands. “Why…am I here?”

Charles considers your questions with a solemn air, retracting his hand. “That…is a complicated matter, my friend,” he explains slowly, looking around the room. “What’s going on… why you are here… Really, the situation is much more complicated than you might imagine.” Charles nods. “Much, much more complicated.”

He lets that hang in the air for a moment. You can hear the flutter of wings outside as sparrows flit around the garden, pecking for bugs. 

The older man reverses his wheelchair suddenly, making you recoil in defense. “It’s quite alright, don’t worry.” He smiles. “It’s easier to show you where here is before we start even discussing whys and hows and the exact nature of  _here_.”

Your patience with the cryptic routine vanishes in an instant, the absence raising you to your feet. You feel…wobbly and unbalanced, and it takes you a moment to get your bearings before you’re ready to walk forward. “If you’re not gonna cut the bullshit, then I’m out of here.” You hiss, walking past the crippled man and out the door. The hallway stretched into two different directions, lined with portraiture, bespoke furniture, and potted plants. Following your nose, you take a right and quickly jog towards what you perceive to be freedom.

Charles rolls after you but he is limited by his wheelchair. “Wait! My friend, wait, you cannot go that way! Please, stay!” He begs you, his voice disappearing as you round a corner and head further towards freedom. You find yourself in a large foyer that has a chandelier hanging overhead and two staircases leading to an upper floor. Grey sunlight caught dust motes hanging in the air, and you had the feeling that this place was…old.

 _[‘What’s on your mind, my boy?’ A voice speaks behind you.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5UaRYB0M3DY)_ A growl escapes your lips as you whirl around to face the man… But there’s no one there. You begin to hear…voices, indistinct whispers coming from the hallways and rafters. You were not alone.

“SHOW YOURSELF!” You roar, teeth bared in fury. “GET OUT HERE!” The varnish and paint begins to peel off of the walls, drifting into the air and disintegrating into motes of dust. A smell of rotting flesh and blood filled the air and choked your senses, driving you into a frenzy.

_‘He’s still asleep…’_

_‘…Show me what you got, Jimmy…’_

Your shuddering hands are covered in blood, dripping down your knuckles to your wrists. It felt warm, but it wasn’t comforting at all. “What’s happening to me?” You wonder, your voice hoarse. 

_‘He’s…dreaming.’_

The snap of wood shoots ice through your veins as you turn to face the newest threat…

A shambling black beast with serrated claws was poised on the staircase, caught in the middle of its stride but waiting, a predator trying to determine whether or not it had yet been caught. Red eyes were locked with your own, taking your measure. You realized this wasn’t a hunt - it was a challenge. Two predators whose paths had drawn too close. Its arrival brought decay, the walls bared to the base concrete, the stairs wrought-iron black. The sunlight has turned to a putrid green and the air was thick with the odor of blood.

“What the hell is happening...?” You wonder, an itch growing between your knuckles.

You barely decide to retreat when the beast lashes out, its black arm extending unnaturally towards you. You feel the serrated claws pass over your head as instinct kicks in, dropping you to the floor and sending you scrabbling back the way you came. The beast howls triumphantly, leaping from the staircase and landing behind you with a shuddering crash. You haul ass back down the corridor, noting out of the corner of your eye that the bare concrete is returning to wood paneling with golden trim. The beast’s red eyes follow you down the corridor, but as you enter the light you discover that it has little interest in following you further.

You collapse to the carpeted floor, breathing heavily and feeling the blood pound in your veins. This…none of this made any sense. You were hearing things, seeing things, your senses betraying you. “What is this place?” You wonder aloud, pushing yourself to lean against a wall.

“What, indeed?” Charles comes rolling down the hall with a concerned expression. You jump into the air, alarmed by how silently he had snuck up on you. Why didn’t you hear him?

The itch in your knuckles grows stronger. “What the hell is this place?” You demand angrily, stalking forward and grabbing Charles by the shirt. You pull him almost entirely out of his chair, but he seems rather calm about it. “What the _fuck_ is happening to me?! What was that… That _thing_?!”

The cripple sighs quietly. [“It’s… a complicated situation, my friend,”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DR7NrU7OUd4) he tries to hide his concern behind a smile, but…it just isn’t placating you or concealing his weariness and discontent. “More complicated than you can imagine.”

“You better start giving me some _goddamn answers_ , or I’ll start beating them out of you.” You snarl, pulling a fist back.

Charles actually laughs at this. “There’s no need for violence, my friend, truly. I don’t withhold answers because I want to, but because this situation is so unprecedented. Believe it or not, I am trying to help you,” he pauses, considering his words. “That thing, the beast, is…consider it a mental block, a brainwashing attempt to control you. Your feral being has been placed in control, because it is easier to control in turn by the forces that put you on this path.”

“As long as this beast exists within your mind you will remain trapped here. It will brook no challenge from you, my friend,” Charles explains. “All I have done is awakened your true self that was asleep beneath the subliminal control. But it seems that the methods they used on you, paired with trauma you have experienced…”

You realize that the man’s explanation had already led you to putting him back in his chair, and Charles smooths out his buttoned-down shirt. “It was a crude job. Your memory, your past, your very identity. You don’t seem to have any clue as to what they are, am I right?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. I…don’t remember jack-shit about anything.”

He looks grim. “I cannot help you defeat the beast inside your mind, only you can do that. But perhaps I can help you get in touch with who you were so that you can have the strength to fight for your freedom.”

…Okay, so maybe you’ll give the bald cripple a chance to actually explain what the fuck is going on. “I’m…trapped inside my mind?” You growl, trying to wrap your head…around the concept of being trapped inside your head. 

This was making your head hurt. Inside your head.

“Well, then who the fuck did this to me? And how in the hell can you be here? Are you a part of my fucked-up brain like that thing is?!”

Charles chuckles, shaking his head. “Come with me,” he begins rolling his wheelchair down the hall, followed warily by yourself. “What I am is in some ways incredibly similar to what you are and in other ways vastly different. I am a mutant, my friend,” he smiles over his shoulder. “Born with the latent power of telepathy.”

You frown in confusion. “Telepa-what?” 

“Telepathy. I can communicate mentally with people, read their thoughts, explore their minds…” he pauses. “And other talents. Among those talents is how I managed to find myself in here, with you.” Charles leads you out onto a patio whose view stretches over a wide green dotted with trees and flowerbeds. “I am providing you a comforting memory to hold onto so that you can recover from the trauma that has been your mind of late. This…is my home. Was my home.”

You look out at the memory, absorbing all of this new information. “...If you’re here, inside my mind, from outside…how did you find me? What’s happening, _why_ is this happening? Can’t you just remove the mental block, if you can do all of this?”

“Well, my friend,” Charles exhales slowly, tiredly. “I will admit I am not being entirely truthful. You see, I didn’t find you at first.” He looks at you with apologetic eyes. “You found me. It was only when I looked into your mind that I saw the glimmer of hope that you might provide to our kind, to mutants and humanity.”

Charles shifts in his chair. “But the reason that I cannot remove the beast that is controlling your mind is… Well. I do not have that power anymore. In reality, there’s little I can besides speak with you and provide this shield to protect your sanity.” Charles looks away, across the green. “Charles Xavier could do such a thing, though it would be a painful process for you, but… I am not capable of that.”

You’re beginning to get tired of his riddles. Can he help you or not?! “What do you mean?!” you demand, your hand slamming down on a stone railing. “Just _answer_ me!”

“It’s because I am a personality imprint of Charles Xavier, left inside your mind by him in his last moments.” The man responds quietly, looking up at you.

“…W-what do you mean?” You ask hoarsely, staring at the bald man.

“You were sent to kill me, my friend,” Charles smiles, in that curious little way that he would, trying to protect you from his pain. “And you, unfortunately, succeeded.”

You shake your head numbly, trying to process what he had said. None of this was making any sense. “That’s…that can’t possibly be true. If I killed you, why would you be trying to help me?” You demanded, taking a step away from Charles.

“…Because I do not intend for my death to be in vain, my friend,” Charles replies slowly, but with a tone of resolve. “You possess a certain set of properties that I believe will be of great value to mutant kind should we free you from this cage inside your head. You can be what I could not be for our brethren.”

“And what’s that?” You ask hoarsely, incredulous and uneasy.

“A beacon of hope, a guiding light that will shine for years to come,” he replies with an enigmatic smile. “The leader that we need.”

You frown, looking out across the green grass and swaying trees. “How could _you_ know what I am, or what I could be?”

“I’m a telepath, my friend,” The older man replies. “Of a particularly powerful nature - or I was. I saw your mind, for a moment, the winding history of your life and what you could become, and I chose to help you rather than protect my own life.” He breathes out a gentle sigh, placing his hands on the armrests of his wheelchair. “I am hoping that you will honor my sacrifice.”

You digest his words, considering your answer. A beacon of hope…maybe he didn’t know you so well, even in your own mind. “Look, pal. I dunno what you saw in my head, but I ain’t some great leader and I don’t wanna be. If I really…killed ya, then I owe you double for helping me anyway. We kick that things ass, I’ll help your people out. Can do that at least.”

You shake your head slowly, knowing in your heart that whatever Charles meant for you to do, to be, it isn’t in you to do or to be. “Sorry, I really am, but that’s just how things are gonna be.”

Charles nods sadly, a little disappointed in your response. “I see. Then I shall guide you to the next step in your journey. Follow me, please.” He wheels back inside and down the hallway, moving down the corridor away from the room you woke up in. He pauses by a nondescript wall and reaches out, pressing a hidden panel and opening a secret doorway.

“This was never so much a memory as…a dream.” Charles explains, rolling into an elevator. You follow him in and brace yourself for the lurch as the elevator descends into the bowels of the mansion.

When the doors open, you see an intersection of corridors. Their decor is quite different from the mansion above, polished with chrome and blue lighting. It was much more futuristic and advanced. At the end of each corridor was a circular door with an ‘X’ emblazoned on the surface.

“Welcome to my vision for the future,” Charles sweeps an arm proudly. “But the way into the future lies through these doors into your past. You must re-live one of these memories to gain some idea of who you were, and with that knowledge you can destroy the beast and regain your freedom.”

[You step forward, looking at the three doors.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3BF3ogctWKQ) Each had… _feelings_ attached to them, emotions and thoughts that welled up in your chest and threatened to burst out. Your hands were shaking and you felt the intense desire to step through each of those doors, to become in touch with yourself once more. Yet as similar as these doors were, each had a differentness about them.

One door felt like…Home. Nostalgic, dependable. But there was also sadness, loss.

One door felt like the  _Wild_. It was chaos, bloodshed, and violence. And in that chaos, there was purpose, self-assurance. You knew what you needed to be.

And one door felt like… **Fire**. There was rage there, fear, and agony. It felt familiar. You had felt it many times before. 

“Which door will you choose?” Charles asks.

You look at the three possibilities, undecided for a moment. “Couldn’t I just look at all of these doors?”

You glance at Charles for confirmation, but the older man shakes his head solemnly. “While characterized as doors, that is only an image that your mind can understand. You will be stepping into something that feels as real and powerful as this place,” he explains. “Once you go through, you must relive the memory in full up to the point where it releases you. At that moment, I will bring you to the beast so that you can destroy it.”

Charles looks at the three doors. “Now…which will you choose, my friend?” 

The tug of the _Wild_ pulls at your heart and soul and you turn to the door on your right, walking towards it slowly. You reach out to touch the cool metal exterior and the door slides open, revealing…

 _Salt water crashes over you, frigid to the bone._ _You gasp and sputter, trying to get your bearings as the scent of brine chokes your fine-tuned senses. You were underwater, a heavy pack on your back holding you down as you clutched desperately to the rifle in your hands. Shuddering explosions were muffled by the water flooding your ears, and you wondered if you were going to drown here again-_

“GET A GRIP, JIMMY!” A hand grabs you by the collar and drags you up and out of the water, throwing you headlong into the sand. The grit cuts your skin and you hack the water out of your lungs, looking up to see hundreds of your fellow marines storming the beaches leading into the jungle. Gunfire popped off in staccato fashion as Black Widows guided bombers on their aerial strikes, turning the tropical island into a nightmarish vision of hell.

Standing over you was a grinning figure, his sideburns outlining the fanged teeth as he opened fire into the tree line with his Browning. You know him, confidence and kindred replacing your confusion. This was Victor, pulling you out of another scrape with his casual bravado. 

He was like you.

Very much like you.

And this place…this place was familiar as well. You remember this day.

February 19th, 1945. _Iwo Jima._

All around them on the black volcanic sand, their fellow marines were being gunned down by Japanese pillboxes in the jungle. Blood could barely be seen, only smelled, and it glutted the air. Victor only laughed in the face of the carnage and his own mortality-

No, that’s right. You two didn’t need to be afraid. There would be pain, but this…this wouldn’t be where you met your end. A thrilled snarl pulls at your own lips as you rise to your feet, cycling a round and putting a bullet through the head of some Japanese bastard in the thicket. You were veterans of many wars and this was as second nature to you as breathing. What was your name this time? You thought it had something to do with Logan, the old gamekeeper from your childhood. Victor would always call you Jimmy, though. He had taught you everything. Kill or be killed? That wasn’t your creed.

You were predators amongst sheep. 

“Attaboy, Jimmy,” Victor chuckles as you find your footing. “Ol’ Colonel Lanigan wants this beach taken by sundown. I think we can do better than that, hm?” He throws the BAR aside, its ammunition spent, and spreads his hands as if inviting the Japanese to come fight him mano-a-mano. Wickedly sharp claws stretch from his fingertips, each about four inches in length. Following his example, you growl in preparation and…

The familiar pain lances through you, burning agony between each knuckle as your six claws extend for the first of many times in your mind, but you know you have done this many times before. You howl with fury and bloodlust and Victor releases a bestial snarl, leading you in a charge against the pillboxes. Bullets sliced through you, cutting your flesh to ribbons…but you didn’t care. They only served to fuel your red-soaked rage. Everything faded into white around you as your sole purpose became gutting whoever crossed your path.

For once, the smell of blood wasn’t choking you. It was a freedom to your senses. The carnage splattered against the walls and floor was your art, your painting, and paint dripped red from your claws, joining the gore and viscera.

This was _your_ world, the world of the predator. Victor was snoring over in a corner, his energy expended from the renewal of life and death involved in your rampage. You…you didn’t feel tired like he did. You were an implacable hunter, capable of continuing the rage and fire in your belly for days, weeks…months. Victor may get more hot-blooded than you, but you could outlast him in any fights you’d gotten yourselves into. 

This is the life James Howlett had known since he and his half-brother fled from their home into the wilderness, some 152 years ago. You sighed, fingers twitching, as the claws retracted in between your knuckles. For a man who should have died of old age and a veteran of several wars, you didn’t look a day over 25. You and Victor were lost in time, static, wandering from one blood-soaked battlefield to the next.

It was the only way to feel alive.

As the blood rage slowly flowed out of you, the memory began to fade away, the blood-splattered walls of the pillbox shifting to a green-tinted concrete, the smell of antiseptic sharp on your nose. You could feel the hot breath of the beast on your neck. However, when you turn to face the beast…its form is amorphous, transitory. It looks to be more man with the clothing of a monster, a man smiling at you deviously, knowing how deeply his own treachery runs.

You take a long look at the shadowy beast-man standing before you…and you turn away dismissively, retreating away from this memory. You had a better grip on who you were, and there was no way this phantasm was going to frighten you anymore. The walls slowly took on the amber hue of wood, morphing back into Charles’ mansion. You were ready to leave, but you wanted to thank him for helping you get back on your feet. 

You find Charles sitting on the patio, watching the garden solemnly. He turns when he hears your footsteps, looking genuinely surprised to see you. “My friend?” he asks. “I didn’t think we’d meet again after you went into your memory. Did you find yourself in there?”

“Ehh… More or less,” you nod, scratching the back of the neck. “I wanted ta say…goodbye, and thank you. You gave me a chance when ya could have just killed me and…I appreciate it.”

Charles smiles wanly. “Well, I hope you give my last wishes some more consideration when you wake up.”

“Mm,” You reply without much commitment. “When I wake up… What can I expect ta find out there?” You were nervous, not wanting to be caught off-guard when you woke up.

The old man thinks. “I’m not entirely sure. The fact that we’re both still here makes me believe that my charges were lenient in dealing with you. Either they left you behind… Or they took you with them when they went on the run.”

You cross your arms. “C’mon, Charles. Don’t lead me around by the nose, just tell me what to expect.”

“I lead a group of mutants who are dedicated to the rescue and preservation of our species, my friend,” Charles replies, rubbing his temple with two fingers. “This group is called X-Force. My second in command is a dear friend, Erik Lehnsherr.  He is… More extreme than I and being in command will be a great burden on his ability to restrain himself from…darker impulses. He is joined by a trio of boys and…one girl.” The older man pauses, a dark expression flitting across his face. “We have been labeled as terrorists and mutant supremacists by the world, but our goal is to protect mutant kind from a world that misunderstands and fears us.”

“X-Force…” you echo softly, wondering what sort of people you’d find in the waking world. “I killed you. How can I possibly win their trust now that I murdered their leader?”

“By doing the right thing, my friend,” Charles stretches forward his hand. “You may be able to hear my voice, but I will try to guide you through this journey as best I can from this place, within your mind’s eye.” He pauses thoughtfully as you shake his hand in your own firm grip. “What should I call you, my friend, now that you have your identity back?”

“The name’s James.” And it feels good to know it, once more.

“James…” Charles tests it out. “Yes… I recall hearing that name quite a bit when I looked inside your mind first. And also, Jimmy.” He gives a wry grin, but it fades a moment after your expression turns dour. He didn’t understand, not really, the weight behind that name, the _meaningness_ to it. He didn’t really know about Victor.

Of course, neither did you, not really. Maybe that was part of why it frustrated you so much. One name that had a thousand feelings attached to it. Victor. “I’ll see you around, Charles.” You say with a strained voice, turning your back on the crippled man. It was time to rejoin the waking world, to see what it was that you were on the outside. 

“Goodbye, James...” Charles waves slowly, watching you step back inside the manor. “Give Erik my regards.” As you turn away, you don’t see the world around him shift slowly to grey mist, evaporating into nothingness and leaving only a shadow drifting in the void. You march forward through the halls of the manor, noting that they’re slowly shifting back to the sterile concrete, the lights getting a sickly green tinge to them.

Stepping into the foyer, you saw that shadowy thing, half-man, half- beast. It smiled at you. Its teeth were slick and they smelled like rubbing alcohol.  _“Good morning, Captain,”_  the voice said.  _“How are you today?”_ It pretended to care, to be a friend, but it was all a mask that heightened the sadism. How it enjoyed having power over you.

“Fuck off, asshole,” you want to say. But guttural sounds choke you as you hear your _real_ response.  _“I’m fine, Colonel.”_ You whisper from your mouth, replaying the events of that time in your head.  _“Is it time?”_

 _“Yes, yes it is time indeed,”_  the beast replies, one thin, needle-like claw extending from its middle finger. You fall to your knees, head bowed in penance for your many crimes.  _“We’ll be starting the procedure now.”_ Its other hand brushes through your hair before holding you still, placing the tip of the needle at the base of your skull.

_“Is he… dreaming?”_

The beast pats your head as you tense up, your mind whirling. Your knuckles burned as bone-white claws stretched forward with pain that choked out your thoughts. Blood and bits of sinew stretched across those claws, dripping onto the floor. “Now-now, this won’t hurt a bit, Captain.” The beast whispered. 

[ _“What is his codename going to be?”_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ZYigVU6yco)

_“The boys down in R &D have been calling Creed Sabretooth.”_

_“Wolverine, huh?”_

_“What’s going on?!”_

_“HOLD HIM DOWN!”_

_“This won’t hurt a bit, Captain.”_ How many times had he said that before? Hadn’t it always been a lie?

“Hnnnnnn….” You close your eyes, as if fighting back a bad hangover. “Maybe it won’t, but…”

You stand suddenly, a body charged with feral power springing up against the beast’s strength, and with one swipe and a blood-thirsty roar you dismember one arm from its elbow, black ichor spilling across the concrete floor.

“ _That_ probably did.” You grin as it staggers back, screeching in agony.

“Alright bub, let’s dance.” Your stance shifts low, keeping your center of gravity close to the ground, shifting your movements left and right. Years of training with Victor had taught you to be wily and unpredictable, to dance around your target and search for an opening. Only one was needed, and then this fight was over. Keep it guessing, don’t let it get a bead on you-

The beast’s foot digs into your chin, clamping your jaw shut and lifting you into the air - two feet, four feet, eight feet… Until you slam into the hard, cold ceiling, dazed. This thing was strong… And already inside your head. Maybe it could predict your moves a little more easily than Victor could back in the da-

Ow. Your head rings and the taste of blood is a sharp taste on your tongue as you land back on the floor. The ringing in your ears…is what your brain tells you what you should be experiencing after a combo like that. The beast cackles softly, standing over you, looking down at you.

“Ah, fuck you!” You spit, rolling to cut the thing’s left leg off at the shin. It screeches in pain, falling forward on top of you to be impaled on your claws. Rivulets of black blood run down your clenched hands as you hold it up over yourself, panting with exertion. 

 _“Remember, Captain.”_ The beast speaks, still amiable _. “We’re doing this for the greater good. For America.”_

Your teeth bare a pained grin. “I’m Canadian.”

Its crimson eyes bore into you hatefully, but they slowly turn into a broad white light that you feel yourself being pulled up towards…into the light…into the sound.

Into the waking world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James can be visualized as a somewhat shorter and stockier Hugh Jackman, but his voice is unarguably Steve Blum's. Charles, meanwhile, was written with Patrick Stewart's performance in mind, and Victor resembles Origins' take on Sabertooth if poor Liev Schreiber had gotten to be part of a better film. Several of the characters introduced can be expected to look like their Foxverse counterparts, although their behaviors are often gestalts of all incarnations of the mutant in question and have adjusted to reflect the merged setting.
> 
> This is, as the tags state, a record of an ongoing roleplaying campaign with me - SpartanAltego - playing the character of James while Malganis84 handles the position of storyteller. It's been cleaned up and chapter-formatted for archival purposes as well as for the benefit of any interested readers out there. We're very happy for any interest, kudos, or feedback on our work. Hope to see you in future chapters.


	2. Awakening

Awaken the Wolverine

Chapter II: Awakening

 

_[The snap-hiss of a match, and a small orange glow lights the thicket.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qbip5oZVL94)There had to be…twenty, thirty dead men strewn around the ground, bleeding and broken, smelling of blood and piss and shit. Poor fucks never stood a chance, didn’t matter which side they were on. Some wore the blue double buttons of the New York City beat cop, some had the trench coat and fedora of a detective, others wore the zoot suits of a Mafioso made-man, cut to ribbons by gunfire and claws. _

_Cigarette smoke drifts from a newly lit Marlboro. “Ahhh… Nothing like a smoke after a good fight, right Jimmy?” Victor leaned heavily against a tree, blood running down his side. Shaky fingers brought the cigarette up to his lips for a long drag. “…Gotta say, though,” he looks around at the carnage. “You really know how to piss in someone’s lemonade.”_

_You pull yourself to your feet, wrenching a hatchet out of your ribs. The police badge in your pocket had done little to stop the razor-sharp weapon from slicing one of your lungs to ribbons. “Hnn… You knew…this shit wouldn’t last, Victor,” you spit, stumbling backwards. “You were on the wrong side of this one.”_

_“An’ yer on the right side?” Victor raises an eyebrow, his pointed teeth grinning around the cigarette. “Looks to me that all these boys are pretty equal before God, now. No winners, no losers…just us.” He exhales smoke through his nose. “It’s always just us in the end, right, Jimmy?” He pulls off his blood-stained suit, leaving on a tank top and suspenders over black slacks. “Ahhh…. I’ll miss running with these boys, thou’. They knew how to kick it.”_

_He walks across the frozen dirt, stepping over the corpse of his former boss, the Godfather of degeneracy, Leo Bonicelli. You glance down at your superior, Detective O’Brian. The Micks and the Wops never really liked each other, opposite sides of the law notwithstanding in this case. “Hey, it’s Christmas, right?” Victor grins wider, grabbing his flask. “Why don’t we drink to it?”_

_Alcohol may be illegal here in the States, but you felt the familiar thirst looking at that flask. You two may have been tearing each other to pieces a few minutes ago…but brothers were brothers. You grabbed hold of the flask and took a swig, savoring the burning feeling in the pit of your gut. Victor took the flask back and drank for a few moments, gasping and rubbing a trickle from the whiskers on his chin._

_“So, what now?” You ask, looking at the bodies._

_Victor shrugs, screwing the cap back on. “Same thing as always, I suppose. We move on.”_

**_ XxXxX _ **

[You inhale sharply, sitting up too quickly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fH4SsriD9wc). The room spins and dances around you as your eyes adjust to the light, adjust to seeing again… Charles hadn’t really helped you keep tabs on how long you were trapped inside your own skull and the sudden influx of sensory information was disorienting. You pitched off of your makeshift bed, trying desperately to clear the spinning in your head. It’s only when you feel the cold touch of steel against your throat that you pause, cold certainty flooding through your brain. The scent of leathery skin, unwashed. Two men, one smelling so thickly of ozone you wanted to jam a claw up your own nostrils just to get the smell out. They were behind you, watching you, but somehow there was steel against your throat.

“I would watch your next step, if I were you,” a man says, a familiar voice laden with danger and distrust. “I’m not overly fond of killing my brothers and sisters, but I’m willing to make an exception for you. Get up. _Slowly_.” The blade leads you upwards by the throat, bringing you to your feet.

You were in a small concrete room, maybe six-by-eight-feet. As your senses adjusted to your surroundings you could hear more voices further off in adjacent rooms, and pick up their scents. There was a damp must to air which told you that you were somewhere underground. You might be able to close the gap between you and the man inexplicably holding a jagged piece of scrap metal to your throat. Even if he cut you open, it wouldn't kill you.

Before you can speak, the man cuts you off. “You’ve been asleep for two weeks. I have been contemplating all the different things I would do to you when you woke up, even though I know you are alive for a reason that I cannot even begin to fathom. I wonder if you have any idea who you are, or what you’ve done. If you are anything more than the animal you let them turn you into.”

“Well now…speak up,” the congenial tone does little to hide how deeply this man wishes to have the slightest excuse to kill you. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

You almost raise your hands in a pacifying gesture, before thinking better of it. “Hold on there, bub. Ain’t no reason for us to make things messier,” you pause, rummaging through what few memories you have, looking for the name Charles had given you. “You’re Erik, right?”

The older man is quiet, weighing what you just said. He scowls, lip twitching. “That is a name from a former life. Amongst my brethren, I am called _Magneto_ ,” He replies coldly, not removing the pointed metal from your throat. “Only one of us ever chose to continue calling me that name, and you.  _Killed_. Him.”

The boy standing beside Magneto smiles, folding his arms as he watches you. He seemed to feed off of his leader’s anger, taking some sadistic joy in being able to revel in his wrath and not suppress it. You could relate to that feeling, in a way. You too knew the joy of unleashing fury upon those who so richly deserved it. Maybe you and this boy weren’t so different.

But neither of you were going to figure that out if Magneto decided to flay you to pieces with that stick. You’d been in some scrapes, you knew that, but what the exact limits were…

“Alright…” you reply slowly. “Magneto. There’s a reason I know you by that other name. It’s because-” in an instant, you realize calling Charles by his first name may also cross some unspoken taboo. “-Xavier told me. In my mind.”

You let that hang for a moment. “…I know I owe him my life. I owe him a lot more than that, actually.”

Magneto watches you for several moments. “What exactly did he tell you?” He asks. “Why  _you_ at all? What about you was so important that my best friend chose to let you live and kill him in the process!?”

Your senses were better than most anyone you’d ever met, but it didn’t take a mutant’s nose to smell the grief rolling from Magneto. You remembered Charles’ request, and your reply. “He told me that you and him are part of a group called X-Force. And that you fight for people who can’t fight for themselves. He thought…he thought that I could help you.”

“I-” Magneto’s mouth opens and closes. He stares at you in confusion, doubt clouding his killing intent. What you said troubled the old man. He couldn’t comprehend a world where he didn’t have the help of Charles Xavier, and now his oldest and closest ally had been replaced by a gruff, stocky assassin who had a sudden and unexpected change of heart.

Luckily, where the pain of old bonds broken fails, the impetuous wrath of youth succeeds. The boy looks at you with his crimson-covered eyes, enigmatic except for the waves of anger and hatred emanating from him. “He’s playing you, Magneto.” He lifts his lenses and a wave of searing red fire blasts you from your position, pinning you against the wall. The energy burns away your flesh, melting it off in thick black globs. It was a fortunate thing, though, that the heat and electricity in the beam had seared all your nerves, making this entire experience mostly painless-

Oh, _there’s_ the pain. There it is, making you gasp and choke on the sheer agony. You look down at your chest, groaning and sputtering while the skin and muscle wraps over your blackened bones, and soon even the hairs regrow over fresh new pink skin. Magneto and the boy watch the entire ordeal in fascination and horror, taken aback by the display before them. You howl and roar, and feel the familiar red haze begin to descend over your mind. Not the feverish fog of sleep the Beast had tried to put you back into, no, but the hot flames that ran through your veins at Iwo Jima and extended between your knuckles.

It’s only the words you had told Charles, your promise - a word that feels significant somehow - that keeps you from retaliating. Instead you press your palms into the floor, and hold yourself still as your body finishes doing what it does best.

“Please  _don’t_ do that again...” you snarl, trying to slow your breathing.

“Your mutation…“ Magneto eyes you with curiosity and wariness. “Twofold, isn’t it? Perhaps even threefold? But that metal compound bonded to your bones was certainly not a part of it… I ripped it from your body,  _just to be sure.,_  the old mutant observes at you without pity for your pain, but holds a hand to the boy’s chest. “Cyclops, refrain from doing that again. I’m not sure you could kill him even if you want to.”

Scott looks at you, his lips parted in an unspoken question.  _How_? But neither of them were trying to kill you again, so that was a start.

“Fuckin’ hell…” you spit, pushing yourself up to your feet. “Yeah, I heal fast. Senses are high, too, and…you’ve seen the other ones.” You wonder if they’d already been stained with Charles’ blood the first time they’d seen your claws.

“I ain’t  _playing_  no one, and I ain’t yer enemy. Whoever did…” you gesture in no particular direction. “What they did to me, they put me to sleep n’ took my memories. Xavier put part of himself in my mind, helped me pull myself together enough to break free. He gave me my life back. He gave me my name back.” You level your gaze at Cyclops and Magneto. “I’m _not_ an animal. My name is _James_.”

“ _James..._ ” Magneto says the name like a dirty word in a Victorian tea party. “How very _human._ It was…certainly of Charles’ character to prefer those names over our own, and it is…not unreasonable that he would use his powers to save someone else, even if…” he sighs, closing his eyes. “Even if it came at great cost.”

“Magneto-” Scott begins to say, but the leader silences him with an upraised hand.

The old man shakes his head, as if trying to dispel the pain. “I cannot accept his murderer but you tell me that his dying wish was for you to be…o _ur ally,_ ” he grits his teeth. “And I know the extent of Charles’ power better than most. He was the most gifted mutant I think I’ve ever met.”

“You were not alone, however, when you came to attack us,” Magneto stares you in the eye. “You were joined by two others. Do you not remember them, or the events that led to your being here?”

You shake your head slowly, cursing Charles’ great talent for leaving out details. “No. I was hoping you’d know.”

“I do,” Magneto confirms softly. “You were accompanied by two other mutants, one who was bestial like yourself and one with an improbably precise ability at aiming. No match for my power, since he liked to use guns.” The old man allows himself the slightest smirk, curling one corner of his lip. “They were sent by a man named Stryker, who has taken it upon himself to be the vanguard in a war against mutant kind that started the day our compatriot, Mystique, was outed in Paris.”

“The Professor and Magneto have been saving the lives of mutants ever since,” Cyclops spits. “Saving them from people like you, who joined the enemy and became their tools, their weapons!”

“Or were captured and forced into slavery.” Magneto rebukes his protégé quietly. “The humans have proven they will leave no callow stone unturned in their desperate hunt for us, and they will sink so low as to turn our people against us.”

The mention of another man, a bestial man - and wasn’t that a fitting descriptor - immediately earns your attention. “What happened to them? Did you capture them too?” The urgency is plain in your tone, but you have to know. Victor was your brother, whatever else you didn’t remember, you remembered that and that was enough.

Magneto shakes his head. “No,” He replies flatly. “You were the only one, the one with the guns was wounded and he ordered the other beast to bring him away. You and that other one were beyond all reason, in a wild rage. He was calm, calculating. He seemed to think you’d be enough to take us on, or simply didn’t care if you died in the attempt.”

Magneto shrugs. “Either way, they fled the battle. Of course, I chased them, not realizing the havoc you would unleash or the people you would kill.”

With a heavy exhale, you sit on the mattress you’d woken on. “…Whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry. Xavier. Charles. He was a real rare kind of person.”

“He wasn’t the only one you killed.” Cyclops grits out, staring at the floor.

Your head snaps up. Oh. That explained it, the wrath, the hate the boy had for you. He wasn’t just mourning Charles. You’d killed someone, maybe several someones, close to him. “…who else?” You ask, dreading the answer.

“A boy,” Magneto tells you, little knowing the nausea that popped in your belly at the words. “A very bright, brilliant young mutant named Beast. He was Charles’ protégé as much as Cyclops here is mine. He fought you to the very last,” he pauses. “I’m told he lasted far longer than our other young charges, partially because he didn’t flee in terror at the sight of you. He held his ground and died like a man. Like a true mutant. Perhaps he even bought time for Charles to decide you weren’t worthy of a similar fate.”

“Beast...” you echo. Xavier and Beast; both sacrificed so you could be freed of the beast inside you. For a moment, you feel regret threatening to sweep you aside, but push the feeling away, corral it. You’ve suffered loss before, and inflicted it on others even more. This is just another of your innumerable sins.

Magneto regards you for a few moments, processing the curious show of remorse from a man who had committed murder. In the stout, tough man he saw something of himself. A mutant who had been taken by the blundering  _Homo Sapiens_  and experimented on like a lab rat. It had become clear now how this James had survived the process of metal being bonded to his skeleton… And whatever other horrors Stryker had inflicted on him.

“Cyclops,” Magneto said finally, looking away. “Leave us.”

“What?!” The boy turns to face his mentor. “You can’t be serious!”

The old man closed his eyes, as if praying for patience. “The first time was a request. Now it is an order. Go. _Now_.” When those grey eyes opened, you felt it was like staring into an oncoming hurricane, a storm that would swallow you up and never let you go.

Scott clenches his fists, looking between you and Magneto. Despite the red lenses over his eyes, you could see and feel his distaste and mistrust of you, how much he wished to avenge the death of his friends. But Magneto was different from Charles. He did not groom disciples or mentor young friends, he created soldiers. And soldiers obeyed their orders. Cyclops stalked out of the room, slamming the metal door shut behind him.

Magneto sits down across from you. “…You understand now why this will be a difficult situation,” In a sign of unexpected vulnerability, he buries his face in his hands, sighing loudly. “Charles, even in death you remain the proverbial thorn in my side.”

You hesitate. The wounds that went beneath the skin never healed for you the way your body did, and you could only imagine the rawness of pain that lingered inside Magneto. There was only one loss for you that you could imagine matching his, and you hoped against hope that never came to be…if it hadn’t already.

You recall your promise to Charles. You said you would help his people; that didn’t only mean the kind of help you delivered via the tip of a claw. “For what it’s worth…thank you. For listening. If it had been me in your place, I know I wouldn’t have. Guess that’s something you and him had in common. And…yeah. Yeah.” You trail off.

While Magneto collects himself, you try to focus on recent events, to pierce the clouds filling your brain and muddying your memories. You try to remember the battle that left you comatose, the man holding your leash - and Victor’s. How had it all gone so wrong? And what could you do to make it right again?

You try to focus on those memories…but they’re vague, blurred recollections like a waking dream. You see Victor’s face and how dull it is from what they did to him…and to you. Magneto laughs, breaking you from your reverie. “We didn’t have much in common. He was a dreamer, an idealist. He was the one to set us on a path towards being the better men. I told him once we already were.” His reddened eyes look away. “It will take some time for the boys to adjust to your presence here, Cyclops especially so. Angel and Arctic might come around more quickly. I don’t know. It’ll be more complicated when my…when Mystique returns with Caliban. She was like a sister to Charles, and she left when I chose to spare your life.”

The old man rises from his seat. “There’s a great deal about us you will have to learn, while at all times being on your guard to prove that you are the man Charles thought you to be., Magneto places his hands against the table. “I can only do so much to help you in that regard. Unless you have any other questions, I suppose I’ll introduce you to our team, as it stands.”

The first step to any crew, be it the Pinkertons, Cops, Marines, or _["We're doing this for the greater good. For America."]_ was to know the pecking order and the creeds. Ask about any rules you should be aware of, and who you should answer to should Magneto not be available. You want to ask him for his help saving your brother, but don't want to push your luck. He was already helping by accepting you, grudgingly or no. You'd earn anything more in due time.

You fidget slightly before opening your mouth. “Any important rules ta know with this group?” You felt a little foolish asking it, but you needed to show Magneto that you were trustworthy and competent.

The leader of X-Force almost laughs at some personal observation. “Our first and foremost rule is that mutant shall not kill mutant.”

You make a face, realizing that might have been what he was so darkly amused at. “I also insist on a strict chain of command. If I, Cyclops, or Mystique give you an order, I expect you to carry it out… Supposing of course that it does not violate your conscience,” he pauses to think. “This is less of a rule than a warning, but if you wish to not antagonize Cyclops any further, stay out of this facility’s basement. There is…a delicate situation that we are still in the middle of handling that he has a direct emotional tie to.”

You raise a questioning eyebrow. “Seems like the kid with a short fuse shouldn’t be the one with fingers in all the pies.” You grunt, absently massaging your newly regenerated chest. 

“Cyclops is my trusted lieutenant,” Magneto replies. “With good reason to harbor the anger that he feels.”

You sigh in response, closing your eyes and realizing you are altogether too sober. “What’s the deal, then? What’s in the basement?”

Magneto is hesitant, unsure of how best to answer that. “A girl, her name is Jean. While she is one of us, she is…special, and though I understand that might seem like an oxymoron amongst mutants, you must understand that she is also incredibly dangerous, to herself and us,” he frowns. “We were forced to put her in a state of suspended animation so that she would not do something we would all regret. She and Cyclops were lovers, so…he has not been particularly keen about that decision.”

He stands. “If he feels that you are threatening her, he will respond… _poorly._ ” Gesturing for you to follow, Magneto unlocks the door with a flick of his finger and leads you out of the cramped room into what looks like a secret manufacturing plant, with the scent of rust and oil tinging the air.

“This was once our home, during the Cold War.” Magneto explains as he leads you through the room and into a makeshift barracks. Cyclops was there, talking to two other boys his age. Both were blond and could almost be mistaken for brothers, though you could tell there was no relation between them by their scent. One sported two wings with a gold color that reminded you of the ghostly barn owl, with an aquiline nose that made him look like royalty. The other was broader and more muscular than the boy with wings, with the beginning wisps of a beard beginning to grow on his face. Neither of them looked happy to see you, but you couldn’t sense the same hostility from them that Cyclops almost constantly exuded.

“Arctic, Angel,” Magneto addressed them, “Meet… James. He has convalesced, as I am sure Cyclops has told you…and with the help of our late leader, the Professor, he has broken the brainwashing inflicted on him by Stryker and his people. He will be one of us from now on, and I want for you to welcome him as such.”

The older mutant glances at you. “Would you like to say a few words?”

You assess the boys sharply, nostrils flaring: partly to memorize their scents, partly exaggerated for effect. You don’t want them to be afraid of you, but appropriate wariness would save you further pain from overreaching youth. “Arctic, Angel. Good to meet ya under…better circumstances. Ain’t nothing I can say that’ll give back what I took, so I’ll just say I’m gonna do my best to make up for it now.”

The boys take your introduction in stride, though Cyclops quickly vacates the room in anger. It’ll take some time to integrate with this-

“Alright, man, well I have to say this: Welcome to freedom!” Arctic grins and holds his fist up for a bump. “ _Mi casa es su casa,_ y’know? You weren’t yourself back then, but you’re free now! Just like all of us, free from what society thinks of us, free to be us. Mutants and proud.” He inhales a deep breath. “Ahhh…taste that sweet air, my friend. That’s freedom. By the way, call me Iceman, all my friends do.” Magneto doesn’t look particularly thrilled with that moniker. Your nose wrinkles as the young mutant introduces himself. He smelled…odd. 

Angel’s wings flutter slightly, a small amused smile flickering across his face. “H-hi,” He shakes your hand. “I’m Angel. Welcome to X-Force.” You could hear and feel his heartbeat increase in anxiety. The kid was terrified of you, but trying to put on a friendly face…whether it was genuine or because he feared you’d react poorly to a negative introduction, you couldn’t tell.

“I am entrusting you two to help James become adjusted to our little sanctuary, at least…at least until it is necessary that we find a new one,” Magneto gives them a meaningful look. “I am going to try and contact Mystique and Caliban. Continue showing James around.”

After Magneto excuses himself, Arctic and Angel show you around the base. They explain that it was once an old CIA listening post meant to help triangulate on subversive communist propaganda in the states. The Professor, Mystique, and Magneto had used it decades prior to develop a prototype sensor array that boosted Xavier’s telepathy to new heights, allowing him to find an old enemy of the original trio. The array was located in the deepest sub-level, above which was the basement where Jean was being kept in suspended animation. The facility itself was entirely underground - from the central hub you could climb a ladder to the surface, where a rusted radio tower stood as a monument over a tomb. 

 

Poking around the listening post, you get a sense for their needs: as a facility, it no longer worked for any type of audio surveillance or intelligence gathering. The water system was also barely functional, and they often boiled any water they gathered to ensure it was potable. You felt in your gut that you had some sort of engineering expertise from your soldiering days that might help with either of those issues. The group also was in dire need of food and medical supplies, which could be procured from a nearby town. 

It occurred to you as you looked around the listening post that you had no idea what year it is. You remembered fighting against the Japanese, and thinking of that time conjured the words  _“World War II″_ in your mind… But when Magneto talked about the  _“Cold War”_ it seemed intimately familiar to you as well. 

“The year?” Angel asked quizzically. “It’s 2017… Why?”

That felt off to you, the gaps in your memory frustrating you more and more. “…No reason."

**_ XxXxX _ **

The steady rhythm of water droplets splashing against the concrete floor accompanies you while you quietly work on fixing the water pump and filtration system. It was decades old and falling to pieces from lack of use and maintenance. You had filled two buckets with rust and silt drained from the basin as well as worn out, grimy filters clogged with mold and debris. If you weren’t determined to see this job through, you wondered if you might pass out from the odor alone. Fixing the water system was turning out to be a much more challenging process than you had first thought…

You felt you could probably jerry-rig parts together to fix the pump, and you had an idea for how to fix some of the broken parts, but you weren’t sure how to best replace the filters. They couldn’t be cleaned, and you weren’t sure if they could be easily replaced…

Deciding to tackle one problem at a time, you first pick yourself up and head over to the barracks, where you dig through closets and storage containers to get wire, springs, loose screws, and other materials. Once that was done and you were satisfied with the pile you had created, you summoned Magneto over. 

“You see this?” You hold up a broken, rusted out piece from the pump. “D’ya think you could weld these metals to make a replica of it?” 

Magneto looks at you quizzically before taking the broken component in his hands, turning it over and examining it thoroughly. “It would be a _different_ use of my powers, but not at all impossible.” He replies, sitting down on one of the bunks and putting the broken piece down next to the pile of materials. Magneto looks between them and extends his hand, using his mind to slowly shape the raw materials into the first beginnings of a replacement. “This will take me a short while,” Magneto admits, concentrating.

“I’ll leave you to it.” You respond with a contented smile, turning away and getting back to fixing the rest of the pump. For this, you’d have to get by with your wits, ingenuity, and a whole lot of duct tape. You could vaguely remember doing this sort of thing in the army a long time ago. Looking at the dirty filters, you considered your options.

Screw it - you’ll make some patchwork filters and elbow-grease your way to success. First, you’d need someone to grab Angel and ask a favor - he probably sheds a lotta feathers from those wings of his, right? You’re gonna collect them, some stones, moss, sand, coffee filters, whatever you can and make a multi-stage water filter. Cyclops can use his oh-so-special eyes to blast some rubble to grind into gravel. Then you’ll rummage around for unexpired bleach: a few drops per gallon of the water that goes through your system, plus boiling, then using Arctic to cool and condense the steam, will make it as safe as you can manage.

You even have a name, since you’re feeling funny – ‘holy water.’

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Cyclops asks incredulously as you explain your plan for restoring the water system’s functionality. Beside him, Angel and Arctic curiously listened to your idea, wondering if this might actually work. “This has got to be the stupidest-”

You shake your head, trying to be patient but powering through his arguments. “Listen, Cyclops, I get it,” you say, holding up a hand. “But just…” _Trust me._ “Let me do this, to help. If we all pitch in on this idea, we can make this place a little more livable. Until a better solution can be found, this one will spread out the work across the entire group and provide clean drinking water, maybe even bathing water if I can get those showers working,” your nose wrinkles. “You guys need it.”

Arctic nods slowly. “Sounds  _cool,_ ” he says, placing a heavy emphasis on cool. “Yeah. Okay, let’s do it!” You were quickly realizing that whenever Cyclops was adamantly against something, you could rely on Arctic to support whatever it was Cyclops disliked.

You noticed Magneto watching you carefully from the corner of the room as he fabricated replacement parts for the broken water pump. The look he was giving told you that you were on your own to navigate through this process.

“Thanks,” you nod to him, then glance to his right. “Angel?” You ask.

“….” The teenage boy holds one of his wings before nodding. “Uhh…sure.” He glances at Cyclops apologetically.

“Great.” you clap your hands, [“Then let’s get to work.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2-W33imWSQc)

Over the course of the next few hours, you went to the surface searching for some of the supplies needed for the filter. Rocks and sand weren’t hard to find, and you could sniff out the moss from a mile away. Down below, Arctic was setting up the delicate system for boiling and condensing the water into a potable solution while Angel gathered and bundled his feathers together. When you returned with a backpack full of heavy rocks, you found Magneto in the main room, using his powers to reassemble the water pump. He gave you a small smirk as you walked by, reassuring you that this plan was a good one.

You dropped your backpack to help Arctic install the condensation unit into the water tank, quickly explaining to him the general mechanics behind the project. While the two of you liberally applied duct tape to hold the thing together, Angel threw the large rocks at Cyclops, who used it as target practice while blasting them into pebbles. Not far away were the bottles of bleach they had collected from the basement level where Jean was sleeping.

Once all the components were ready, you assemble the filters and install them between the water pump and the condensation unit. “Cyclops, Arctic, get ready...” you inform them, watching as water trickled through the filters. “…Now!” Cyclops glanced at you before tuning his visor to blast the unit with a low-concentration beam while Arctic applied his powers to return the steam to liquid form…and in no time at all, a clear stream of water trickled into the water heater.

“Not bad,” Magneto comments, admiring the clear stream of potable water. “Not bad at all.”

All that’s left now is to let the water sit while the bleach finishes killing any lingering bacteria. You crack a smile despite yourself. “It’ll taste and smell a little funny, but the smell’a bleach is better whether ya drink it or soak in it.” Help pass around a glass of water to the group. Raise your glass somberly. “…to Charles. To Hank.”

The rest of the group hesitates for a moment before mirroring the action. Iceman and Angel seem the least apprehensive, happy to have some clean drinking water after two weeks in this old dungeon, and Angel seemed a little tickled to be seeing everyone drink “holy water”.

Magneto frowned a little at the use of Beast’s human name but seemed accepting the token of respect you offered. Cyclops wavered, his hand trembling. You could tell he was tempted to pour it out on the floor or throw it in your face, but perhaps the name that had annoyed Magneto reminded this young boy that he and Hank were just that: boys, boys caught up in a shadow war that they had not started and were woefully unprepared to face. He sipped the water and put his cup aside before heading back to the barracks.

Magneto clears his throat. “I’ve received a brief communique from Mystique,” he informs you all. “It at least tells us two things: That she and Caliban are still alive out there, and that they’ve left a cache of data behind in Morlock City, therefore we’ll be leaving for a while to retrieve this data.” Iceman and Angel look excited at the mention of this new place.

You raise an eyebrow quizzically. “Morlock City?”

“It is likely the only truly safe place on earth for mutants, I would wager,” Magneto answers. “Caliban was a founding member before Charles convinced him to join our ranks, do some good proactively. It is an underground city beneath New York where mutants can live and work in a society of mutant kind, without the hatred and bigotry we experience from the _homo sapiens_. We can get valuable supplies going there as well, so this trip has been a long time coming.”

You nod, wrapping your head around the concept of an underground city below New York. It seemed almost amazing to you, as someone who had spent many years in that city, that there could be a secret society of mutants living under everybody’s noses.

Magneto bundles his cloak under one arm, walking away. “We’ll leave under the cover of nightfall, so I would suggest getting some sleep before this evening so you’re not too tired for the trip. Arctic, Angel, come with me to the barracks to decide who will be coming along and who will be staying.” The two young mutants eagerly trot after their leader to jockey for a position on the away team.

After conversing with the boys, Magneto decided it was best to bring Cyclops along and leave the other two behind to take care of Jean and hold down the fort. You curled up in one corner of the barracks as they talked, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to rest. It had been a long day, and the days to come would likely be longer still. Despite this, you did not feel weary in the face of the long road ahead. While you wished to find Victor, it was with new purpose and new meaning to your existence here. Something to strive towards, instead of an endless, meandering march through time.

Closing your eyes, you could visualize the door to the past, the portal through which you wished to step… And you opened it, walking forward into the light.

**_ XxXxX _ **

_It was the harsh, bright light of a midsummer afternoon. You took a sip from a frosty bottle of beer as you walked along the street towards your house, past the white picket fences and red window shutters that every house on this street seemed to have. You had been living here since the war had ended and you had found your way back home with Victor. After the horrors you had seen fighting against the Japanese, a place like this felt a little like paradise… You wondered if perhaps you had died in one of your berserker rages out in the Pacific and found your way to a little isle of Elysium._

_“Hey there, soldier.” One of your neighbors, Judith, leaned against the fence next to you her smile almost sparkling in the sunlight. She was married to a man who traveled as a salesman often and you had noticed she’d taken a shine to you and Victor.  You self-consciously realized you had been walking home wearing little but some denim jeans and a white tank top, which she seemed perfectly fine with._

_“Hey there, neighbor," you smiled, somewhat nervous and raising your bottle in a sort of salute. “Hot day today, eh?”_

_She nods in agreement. “Oh yes, it’s definitely too hot today. I certainly can’t wait to get out of these sweaty clothes.” She favors you with a wink._

_You felt conflicted over this clear proposition. You had no hard feelings against her husband and it was certainly not your problem that he couldn’t keep a loyal wife, but some small part of you rebelled against your base instincts that told you to follow her inside._ _She stared at you for a few more moments before you relented and grinned slightly, accepting her invitation._

_Once your appetite had been sated, you found your way home through the dark of the night, yawning as you passed the threshold of your home and got another beer from the kitchen. You took a sip after popping the cap off, savoring the bitter flavor before heading into the basement of the house. A radio set crackled and sputtered in the corner, playing reruns of old dramas. In the center of the room sat Victor, a black cloth laid across his face and a collar around his neck._

_“Hhhh…” He hisses, shifting slightly in his overstuffed arm chair. “Jimmy…is that you?”_

_You sat down near him, taking another sip of beer. Nights like these were becoming more and more common. “Yeah Victor, it’s me.” You respond quietly._

_“You reek of sex,” he grunts, chest heaving. “That girl, down the street… Jimmy… This fucking place is driving me crazy, Jimmy…” Victor slurs his words, mouth watering with a desire for something no human drink could sate. “How much longer…”_

_“…I don’t know, Victor.” You reply softly, staring at him._

_“They say there’s gonna be a war in… In Korea…” he says with a tinge of boyish hopefulness. “They say… They say they’re fighting…fighting…war…”_

_You hang your head, feeling an ache grow in back of your skull. “Yes, Victor.”_

_“J-Jimmy…?” His body went suddenly rigid, pulling forward against the chain, the black cloth floating to the ground to reveal bloodshot eyes. His teeth were bared and claws dug deep into the arms of his chair. Any words he might have intended were lost in a feral growl._

_You stared at him with quiet, sad eyes. You knew this was just Victor’s nature. He couldn’t help that he was born for the wild._

_You wondered if you were too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bobby Drake AKA Iceman/Arctic is not the same in appearance as his filmverse counterpart. Rather, he is younger-looking, with longer blonde hair and a love for beanies with an ‘X’ adorned on the front. Kind of kid you’d see skating around, buzzing and lackadaisical.
> 
> While this rendition of the character is not openly gay and assumed heterosexual by the people around him, he's really just closeted and overcompensating. Warren is openly gay - this plays into a factor unseen as of yet, in that Warren is the member of X-Force who takes care of Jean. Someone’s gotta keep that girl cleaned up, after all, and Scott being a brash youth is too embarrassed to do it himself and too paranoid to trust Arctic to do it.
> 
> It will also make some sense when we meet Warren’s father. Growing wings was not the only reason Angel came to be with X-Force. 
> 
> The nature of characters’ sexualities, genders, and physical and mental capacities play critical roles for the portrayals of each member of X-Force (James himself included). To myself and Malganis84, X-Men as a storytelling vehicle works best when tackling social issues through the angle of already-disaffected-superhumans. Indeed, superheroes seem to thrive greatly in genre fiction tales or with the embrace of social commentary: we see this in The Winter Solider, in Logan, in Wonder Woman and more. Superheroes’ value as icons are defined not only by their villains and struggles, but the struggles of the setting around them and how they choose to interact with those elements. Captain America, for example, ascended to greatness by becoming a progressive icon, long before the films won the hearts of many with Chris Evans’ performance.
> 
> Apologies for the exceptionally long note, but it is important in today’s age to be earnest and clear in intent when touching such subjects - one cannot be certain of a stranger’s heart as they read their works, and modern life lends itself to assuming the worst. Please continue to enjoy, respond, and read on.


	3. A City of Cages

Awaken the Wolverine

Chapter III: A City of Cages

 

[You watched the night sky as Magneto drove the atomic-fueled Cadillac down the empty highways.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQDQW-7kHcI) It was an older model, one bought by the professor when he was still a legitimate part of society and not a terrorist leading X-Force. Cyclops sat in the back seat of the car, stretched out across the leather and quietly staring at the ceiling. Nothing was said, there was nothing to be said. They were on a mission, and you were honestly preoccupied with seeing the world with new, free eyes. You had no idea how long you had been under Stryker’s control, and everything seemed… Different, unfamiliar. Handheld technology, atomic-powered automobiles, sometimes a single or dual-rotor Heli-plane would fly past, much bigger than anything you had seen in- -. You paused, realizing that the name didn’t come to you like it should, even though you knew that you should know it.

“Everything’s…” You gesture to the outside world vaguely, trying to find words for the experience of not even knowing yourself. “It’s…” Magneto glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, not responding. He still didn’t quite know what to make of you, and even though you had his cooperation, you only had the barest sliver of his trust. You sigh heavily, kneading your brow. “I feel like I’m…. waking up from a bad dream into ‘nother dream, and I don’t know what’s real and what’s… _not_.” You explain in frustration. “Like what do I know, and what don’t I know.”

Magneto taps his finger on the wheel. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, James.” He replies in a neutral tone.

“Yeah… Forget about it.” You grunt, wishing you had a cigar. Glancing out the window again, your eyes are stabbed by a bright neon sign for a fast-food restaurant, making you blink with mild disorientation.  “Jesus…” You mumble, rubbing your eyes. “So why don’t you live in this Morlock City, Magneto?” You ask, tired of the silence finally. “If it’s such a safe place, wouldn’t it be better to take the boys there and lay low?”

The old man smiles bitterly. “That would be the _easy_ thing to do, yes. I have never found it in my character to do things the easy way, and I have little intention to run and hide beneath the ground when I could be fighting for my brothers and sisters to live in freedom under the sun, not under the dirt.” He looks at you briefly. “Those boys had the same choice, and they chose to fight against the tyranny of the mundane human than to hide under a rock and hope that those superstitious fools never come looking for us. Everyone who has ever fought in X-Force did it with their eyes open to the truth.”

The Cadillac passed through a small town with more neon signs and brightly-lit billboards. You squinted as you looked up at them, reading the advertisements and slogans. One caught your eye… A red and gold billboard with a picture of an older, mustachioed man hard at work welding together a suit of metal armor. “ _He’s_ doing his part for America - _Are you?”_ Asked the billboard, with more slogans exhorting citizens to join the military and buy Stark Industries products. Another billboard showed off a suit of metal armor painted with patriotic colors, which seemed vaguely familiar to you, from a time long ago.

You frown and turn to Magneto. “Are we at war, again?” You ask, familiar with the sort of propaganda one sees during wartime.

“Not yet, but if the current president has his way we will be soon,” Magneto smirks. “They are a barbaric lot, not even content to hate us, they hate each other for minute differences in facial structure and melanin pigmentation. Our current president loathes the Orientals, you see, and is constantly antagonizing the communist state of China. Some fear it will spark a nuclear war.”

You see the town and its billboards receding in the rearview mirror, a grim mood washing over you. Some things never changed, did they? There would always be war, and you had a way of being magnetically drawn into them. Maybe, like Victor had once thought, it was just your nature.

The three of you arrive in New York City hours later, close to the break of dawn. Magneto parked the car in Harlem, on the upper side of Manhattan. You yawn tiredly as you pull yourself out of the passenger seat, stretching out tired bones and muscles. Your healing factor didn’t seem to help very much with fatigue, so you’d have to be careful not to exhaust yourself.

Cyclops pulled off his visor and put on a pair of red shades, hiding the high-tech device in his jacket. “How come you don’t just blast those straight off yer face?” You ask, curious.

The young mutant glances at you, his expression a little hostile, like usual. “My eyes have a special organ that catalyzes normal light entering my pupils. This creates the beam of energy that you… experienced.” He smirks slightly. “When I wear the shades or my visor, it changes the wavelength of the light into something my eyes can’t catalyze. Same with if I close my eyes or if I’m in pitch black darkness. If there’s not enough light, no eye beams.” He seemed to enjoy explaining it to you, like you were a dumb five-year-old he had to patiently explain a fundamentally simple concept to.

“Mm.” You noted his admitted weakness, though. If he ever snapped at you again, it’d be good to know how to neuter that eye beam. You rub your chest, feeling a phantom itch where new flesh had grown to replace the old.

Magneto walked between the two of you, defusing the tension. “Let’s be off, it’s a long walk to the entrance to Morlock City.” He says imperiously, leading the two of you out of the parking lot and onto the sidewalk. As the beginnings of dawn peeked over the horizon, the city was already awake, with commuters and taxis making their way downtown or to the subway.

Magneto lead you out of Harlem and further south down the east side before heading down into a subway station. With a flick of his wrist, he slid coins into three turnstiles so you and Cyclops could enter simultaneously with him, heading underground. However, as you trotted down the stairs, Magneto grabbed your arm and directed you towards a small newspaper stand at the side of the tunnel. “Keep your head down.” The old mutant leader hisses as he picks up a newspaper.

Before you could ask what was wrong, a squad of silver and purple bipedal machines marched through the tunnel in a pentagon formation, their orange eyes assessing each person they passed. They looked almost human, if it weren’t for those glowing eyes and their robotic, emotionless voices.

The group paused nearby you, and you could see Magneto tense up. “Assessment: No mutant activity detected in this area.” The lead machine remarked, clutching a rectangular pistol in one hand. “Moving on to next operational zone.” The five began to march forward once more, the crowd parting around them like a school of fish around a shark. “Have a pleasant day, citizens.” One machine remarked as it passed by. “Report all suspicious activity.”

Once the threat had passed by, Magneto paid for a newspaper and lead you further into the subway station. “The hell were those?” You whisper to him, glancing over your shoulder to make sure nobody was eyeing you too closely.

“Sentinels.” He replies frostily. “Machines created to hunt and kill mutants. With my powers they’re not much of a threat in small numbers, but even I can be overwhelmed if they swarm together. I have heard rumors about the development of much… Larger… Specimens than those, but…” He throws the newspaper into a nearby trash bin. “Only rumors.”

You quietly rubbed your knuckles, feeling nervous and a little paranoid. You weren’t sure your claws would be of much use against those robots without the powerful metal that had been bonded to them. Magneto had said he’d only left enough of the metal in your body to use as a weapon against you, should you turn on him…

“Focus.” Cyclops nudges you, breaking you out of your thoughts. You follow him and Magneto to a quiet end of the station, where Magneto pops open a door marked “Authorized Personnel Only” and slips inside, leading you through a maze of maintenance corridors into a dark subway tunnel. From there, you trudged through the system of underground New York subway tunnels searching for the entrance to Morlock City, sometimes having to tuck into darkened corners with the rats so that a subway train could pass by. You had to cover your ears and wait for the screeching to stop, it hurt your delicate senses… Not to mention the _smells_. After what felt like an interminable march through the darkness, Magneto finally stopped at a metal grate, unbolting it from the ground and lifting it overhead.

“Jump down,” The mutant leader ordered. He stepped forward and began to float gently to the ground, whilst Cyclops jumped into the darkness without a care in the world. Obviously, he’d done this before. You hesitated for a second before jumping in too, the grate closing above your head.

[When you landed,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X35voOs4rQA) you saw a massive, brightly-lit cavern filled with tents, shacks, and pavilions, with glowing signs and strings of Christmas lights to give the whole area a festive appearance. The cavern was filled with mutants, some who looked like normal people and some who had outlandish and bizarre appearances. This area seemed to be a place where you could buy food, liquor, weapons, companionship, mercenary work, or medical treatment. An open market friendly to mutants.

“Welcome to Morlock City.” Magneto says with a hint of pride. “I’m going to go find Mystique’s cache. You two are welcome to look around, but stay out of trouble.” He orders, lifting himself up to float down to the ground. Cyclops started to climb now, and you followed, wandering to the edge of the motley community and looking up at a post with a bunch of roughly-made signs on it. The biggest sign welcomed you to the Morlock City market, while others invited you down to the fighting pits, the mud aqueduct, and the lower cavern. Cyclops seemed intent on going to the fighting pits, but you weren’t sure where you wanted to go.

Truth be told, you ain't really feeling the mood for a friendly scrap with other mutants, not with the hazy memory of your bestial attack and the crystal-clear memory of their consequences still lingering. Market's as good a place as any to get a feel for the culture, and maybe get some good food and drink while you're at it.

You wander into the market, your senses enticed by the smell of food and drink, the musk of human bodies pressed up against each other. You pass by a mutant with fishy scales and gills selling trinkets handmade by him, offering low prices and great bargains for his wares. His trinkets are of an odd design - necklaces, bracelets, and other adornments made with scrap metal and nails, crudely hewn together into a barbaric sort of art. At the center of each piece, though, is a piece of glass or crystal that catches the light… Beauty, in the midst of ugliness. He smiles hopefully at you, but doesn’t seem disappointed when you keep walking.

“Hello, brother.” A man in a grey and blue cloak greets you, standing at the door of a longhouse. “Welcome, I don’t think I’ve seen you in our city before. I’m Healer.” He extends a hand to you, which you gingerly shake. “If you run into any problems here, in the fighting pits, or in the world above, I can patch you up, no problems.” He smiles.

You grin a little, shaking your head. “Thanks, bub, but I don’t think I’d have much for you to take care of.” You wink. “…What’s this place? Your house?” You eye the odd Egyptian iconography curiously.

“No, brother.” Healer laughs. “This is the Church of En Sabah Nur, the savior who will return to usher in the next period of human evolution. We worship his legacy here and pray for his swift return.”

“Return?” You grunt, amused at the idea of a mutant religion. “Where’s he at?”

Healer looks over his shoulder. “He was murdered by his closest allies and lies in the land of the dead… But only dreaming, only dreaming, and when the dream is broken he will awaken once more, neither dead nor alive, but something transcendent.”

“….Right.” You avert your eyes, wondering where people got these whacky ideas. “So uh, _brother_ , is there any good place to get some grub around here? It’s been awhile since I had a hot meal.”

Healer nods. “Of course. There are three places where you can get some food - Marrow’s Bar, the Morlock Diner, and the market tavern. Marrow has the hardest liquor, but the best food is definitely at the tavern. You can also find work there, if you’re the mercenary type.” He adds that last part with a bit of a disapproving frown.

“Not really my thing anymore, heh.” You shake your head as you leave. “I’ve got another dead guy telling me how to live my life these days.”

You turn, ready to leave, but halt as you realize: you were in a civilization, now. Which meant the people here could bring you up to speed on certain issues. "Hey, Healer. Without getting into much I, uh, need a little catching up on the times if you catch my drift. What's been going on the last couple years? How long've y'all been down here?"

Healer listens as you ask your questions, trying to get a sense of what the world is like now. The man scratches his chin carefully, measuring his words. “The last couple of years, hm?” He muses, thinking. “Well, a lot of stuff has happened, but I guess a couple of big things were the development of those Sentinel robots and the recent attempts to establish a base on the moon.” He waves his hand dismissively as you raise an eyebrow. “Some big space race thing with China, not really of much interest to us. The Sentinels were a direct response to the Blue Virus.”

You had never heard of anything like that. “The Blue Virus?” You inquired, wondering how that could be tied to the Sentinels.

“…Six years ago, a member of our community went missing after she went topside. Her name, rather uncharitably, was Plague.” Healer says with a note of sadness. “When Callisto and her people finally found her, she was… She had been through a lot, but it became clear that a government task force called Weapon X had captured her and experimented on her to develop bioweapons, it was part of her mutation… Well, somehow she managed to escape and accidentally unleashed a terrifying viral epidemic on the United States, which quickly went global. It was agonizing to normal humans, but… It didn’t kill many. It seemed designed to inflict as much suffering as possible without killing the infected, though some died anyhow, children and the elderly, mostly. The world governments blamed us.”

Healer pauses for a few moments. “Callisto then went to an outside group to help bring justice to Weapon X for what they did to poor Plague. Locally, I guess you could say that the biggest event has been the transference of leadership to Callisto. She’s a lot more aggressive.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, folding your arms.

“Well.” Healer begins to explain. “Morlock City has been here for roughly 20 years, though it’s only in the last 8 that the city has expanded as much as it has. Back in the day, all there was was this cavern.” He looks around the ceiling littered with stalactites. “A group of mutants found it and formed a community here, and it was originally Callisto, Mask, Caliban, and Sunder. As the community grew bigger, there needed to be a single source of leadership to help cut down on procedural gridlock…. So, Mask was elected, and she governed for a while before people got fed up with her and elected Callisto instead. Callisto has been in power here ever since.”

You nod, thinking. “Whatever happened to the girl? Plague?”

Healer fidgets. “I can fix a lot of things, but… I couldn’t fix what they did to her. She took her own life.”

Thanking Healer for the information, you went to the tavern to fill your belly. You found the building to be packed with people, crowding around tables and tearing into food hungrily. Shuffling past overheated, sweaty bodies, you tried to control your response to the visceral bouquet of odors and sounds that assaulted you. You began to dream of clean rooms filled with scented candles, which is a fact you’d probably take to your grave. Finding a seat close to the small bar, a girl with three horns sticking out of the back of her skull walks up.

“Heya, welcome to the Market Tavern, my name is Piper and I’ll be your server today.” She smiles and pulls out a pad of paper. “Our special today is a rat meat and fungus stew with a stein of dark beer and a free refill. Our normal options are roast leg of… something…, a bowl of noodles, or beef ribs. We have our house brewed beer, or if you’re really feeling like splurging we have soda and topside beer.” She pauses, frowning. “Y’know, I haven’t seen y’around before… D’ya have the money to pay for food?”

You blinked, realizing Magneto hadn’t told you anything about how to afford anything. “Uhhh… I’m new here, actually.” You acknowledge slowly. “Do you use dollars, or…”

Piper shakes her head. “Nah, nah, we use pits.” She pulls a small alabaster marble from her pocket. It had an acrid odor that made you wrinkle your nose. Piper sizes you up for a moment before clearing her throat. “Listen… I’ll cover your meal for you, but you’re gonna have to do something for me.”

You're suspicious, but also hungry. If this girl - who actually didn't look all that bad, horns were kind of appealing in a rugged way - was willing to cover your meal, you suppose you ought to at least consider her request. "Sure. What's the problem 'needs fixing?"

"Well..." She replaces the pit in her pocket, her fingers twisting together as she tries to explain what was going on. "You see, my boyfriend Rickard got into debt, real debt for real money, with some folks down below, and two weeks ago they said they had a job for him as a way to pay back what was owed... So he said yes and he went on the job, didn't tell me anything about it or where he was going..."

"That was two weeks ago, and I haven't seen or heard from him since." She tells you. "The folks down below, they don't really... They're not really beholden to anyone 'cept Callisto, and she hasn't leaned on them in a while. They won't tell me where Rickard went or if he's... If..." She goes quiet. "You look tough... and if you're a newcomer then you don't have anything to lose because you don't live here. Could you just go down and... Talk to them a little? Find out anything you can about Rickard? If you're willing to do that... I'll pay your meal now and I'll cover for you again the next time you're in here."

Ah. You nod understandingly; this was one of those situations you'd sometimes seen during your time(s) as a cop. Fella gets himself into debt with some straight-razor types, gets himself shaved off the face of the Earth. Or pinched during a botched heist, and winds up in prison. You'd seen about every outcome there was to this kind of story.

But - and you could faintly hear Victor snorting at you for this - you've got a soft spot for pretty faces, food for work, and a young woman needing help. So these cavern fellows, whatever their game, had best think carefully about how they answered his questions.

Or they'd find out you had an awful lot of hard spots, too.

"Done deal. Point me in the right direction."

"Oh, thank you!" She smiles widely. "They follow Berzerker, he's got a house down in the lower cavern. If you go there and can't find them, they're going to be in the fighting pits, definitely... A-anyhow, I'll get you some food - what did you want, again?"

"Tell ya what," you reply amiably, rising from your seat. "Surprise me when I get back. Got a job to do, first."

"Are you sure? You didn't have to go now." Piper replies, trying to be as friendly as she can be to the stranger helping her.

"Don't worry 'bout it. Besides, food's a little more optional for me than most. Take care 'a some these other folks in the meantime."

She nods thankfully, moving off to other tables but glancing over her shoulder as you find your way back out onto the street. First stop, lower caverns. You ask for directions as needed, let your nose lead you the rest of the way as you get closer. Every city had a smell, and the air was always a little different in some than others.

Not that you really relished sniffing the air being exhaled and lived in by sequestered, sweaty, enclosed masses with no way out...but then, you'd smelled worse. There were two ways down to the lower caverns - he could either go via the fighting pits or the mud aqueduct.

Ah, well. Fightin' pits were a good place to pass through anyhow, see if this Berzerker - and you can't help but roll your eyes - and his crew were running about there.

**_ XxXxX _ **

[You can hear the roar of the crowd](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U68sWpW8MAI) echoing up the tunnel long before you reach the mouth. As you carefully tread down the worn path into the fighting pits, the din grows only louder until you reach the tight-packed throngs of mutants cheering. There were three large cages in the cavern, situated in pits so that a greater amount of people could see the action in their chosen cage match. Bars carved from small enclosures around the perimeter of the cavern ensured that the audience was good and liquored up for the fights, with money and pits passing hands as bets were made. You wander around the fighting pits, watching the different brawls.

In the first cage you arrived at, a burly guy with a ridiculous yellow and orange mohawk shot lightning from his fingers at his eyepatch wearing opponent, who caught the electricity in his palm and contorted it into a whip to send right back to its source. Two different electric-powered mutants fighting for the crowd.

In the second pit, an ugly bald man was busily mopping the floor red with the pulped face of his opponent, a young woman who had apparently been too stupid or too proud to realize she'd lose a fight with the bastard. The crowd cheered anyhow, despite the wanton violence against a smaller woman. Perhaps she had it coming?

In the third pit, you watched an older man blowing gusts of wind at a jelly-like amorphous mass slowly moving forward to engulf him entirely. He seemed moderately worried from what you could see, as only small chunks of the jelly mutant were blowing off, not enough to seriously slow down its encroachment on his position. You could see Cyclops in the crowd watching this fight, yelling for the older man to win or else he'd lose money on a bet.

You could almost hear Charles in the back of your head, telling you that they were lost... Following blind leaders and in need of hope, and that they needed guidance.

You sniff, sight sharpening ever so minutely as the coppery tang hits your nose and quiets the ghost's words. Still...you can't help but agree, quietly. These were just a bunch of lost kids, hitting each other in the absence of the power to hit back at their real problems.

Small wonder Cyclops was here.

You move toward the second cage, trying to make yourself heard as you ask a random person who the two fighters are. Guy you were looking for was called Berzerker, after all, and that ugly fuck beating on that woman sure struck you as the type.

The bell dings finally, a mercy for the poor girl who lost the match, and an announcer takes the stage to hype up the crowd. _"What a match, folks! Poor Pester didn't know what hit her! Sunder is the winner! Who'll enter the fight next, to take on this 300 pound fighting machine!"_

Looks like your hunch was wrong, this wasn't Berzerker... But you hear his name over the loudspeakers as another announcer commentates on the fight in pit 1. Looks like one of those electric mutants was the man you were looking for... And Berzerker was the one winning.

"Hnh."

The crack-boom of thunder reverberates through the cavern as one of the two mutants pulls of a flashy stunt. You didn't like the look of that electricity either of them were throwing around. Probably didn't hold a candle to Cyclops' 'smoldering gaze' but that was like saying a .22 didn't sting as much as a .50 through your lung. Walking over, you could see that the two were caught in a beam o' war - their respective power being thrown fully against each other, Berzerker's yellow bolts of lightning flashing and sparking as they slowly put the other contestant, Erg, on his knees.

With a vicious grin, Berzerker finishes the fight suddenly, sending a wave of lightning surging forward to blast Erg against the bars, unconscious.

_“IT'S A KNOCKOUT!"_ The commentator yells into his mic. _"WHAT A FIGHT!"_

Berzerker raises his fists into the air in triumph as his gang takes the stage to crowd him and congratulate him on his victory, while the announcer asks if anyone will take the winner on in the cage.

Despite yourself, you smile. Oh yes. Yes you will.

_"I'll take him!"_ You shout.

_"WE HAVE A CHALLENGER!"_ The announcer says excitedly as you step forward. _"COME ON UP, STRANGER!"_

Berzerker's gang hops down, leering at you like fresh meat about to be devoured.

You shrug off your jacket, tossing it into the crowd. "Hold that for me." You size up the gang, nostrils twitching. There were four members in the gang besides their leader, three guys and a girl who looked like her mother fucked an iguana.

_"TELL US, STRANGER!"_ The announcer gets up in your face with a microphone _. "WHAT- IS YOUR NAME?!"_

Berzerker stood behind him, grinning in anticipation as he chewed on a bit of gum.

_James._ Your thoughts say.

"Wolverine." Your mouth speaks.

_“YOU HEAR THAT FOLKS??? LET'S GIVE A BIG MORLOCK CITY GREETING TOOOOO THE WOLVERIIIIIINNEEEEEEE!"_ He roars, the crowd cheering in response, eager to see what your mutation could do in a fight.

"You've got different eyes, man." Berzerker notes. "You've got a bone to pick, huh?"

Victor sometimes said the real proof you two were brothers was the way your eyes lit up before a fight. And the way the pupils thinned into slits. "Yeah, you could say that. Looking for a guy named Rickard. And way I hear it, you and your cheerleaders down there were the last ones 'ta see him."

"Wanna sing softly..." You let one set of claws slip free from between your knuckles. "Or loudly."

"Rickard?" He asks, shrugging. "Never heard of 'im." Berzerker grins, sparks dancing on the tips of his fingers.

"Oh boy, uh," The announcer hops off the stage, closing the cage behind him as fast as he can. "FIGHT!"

Berzerker lets off a bolt of lightning faster than you can react, slamming into your shoulder and sending you spinning backwards into the cage. The crowd roars, watching you come to your senses from the mind-numbing blast. "None of these folks have seen cooked wolverine before." He chuckles, ready to fry you again at a moment's notice.

"Grrr..." You smile at him through cracked lips, smoke rolling off you with the smell of cooked meat. "Hngh. That tickled,” you crack your neck, flesh smoothing out. You wonder how long he can keep up that light show of his before he gets winded. Maybe a while...but he had just finished his little light show performance with that other energy-slinger.

You bet you can go longer.

"More where that came from, little guy," he says, but his grin fades as he notices your skin healing, distracted for a split second.

With a snarl, you dash forward, claws low for a stab below the guard. He blinks, snapping back to attention and jumping back, but not fast enough that your claws don't snag on his leg. Berzerker hisses in pain, landing on one knee and shooting off a surge of electricity!

Instead of dodging to the side, risking a glancing shot, you leap up and stab your claws into the rocky ceiling of the cage. The stone of the caverns wasn't nearly so hard as the fortified concrete of the military bunker you'd woken in, and you hang from the ceiling for just a moment before dropping back down in a crouch.

"Tricky bastard." Berzerker growls, running forward and pulling strands of electricity together to launch at you - but you're not where he had originally seen, rolling down and to his left, landing another slash on his side. He growls in pain, sending a blast of lightning into the cage that travels across the bars and grounds out in the cavern floor and ceiling.

"COME ON, BERZERKER! KICK HIS ASS!" Scaly girl yells, sticking her two-foot long tongue out at you. His blood drips from your claws, and god the smell was intoxicating. You could feel your stomach flipping inside you, an excitement growing from the pit of your gut threatening to overtake you. How long had it been since you felt this way?

You smile ferally. "Wonder if these fellas' ever seen a Berzerker on the spit before. Wanna start singing? Or you still got a little stage fright? Don’t worry, I know how to bring it out of you."

"Shut up." Berzerker growls, lashing out with two electric whips, one catching you across the cheek bone and the other across the chest. He didn't give you a chance to recover, staggering forward to try and blast you back - but you managed to stagger away faster than he could stagger to you, his cut leg slowing him down.

You let the dance play out a little longer, letting the punk wear himself out. It was almost time, now.

He strikes forward again, giving you another opportunity to use the style you developed fighting your brother - don't be where expected, let the enemy overextend themselves, and then hit them from the side. However, when you appear, it's not on his left side like before, but on his right, driving your claws upwards straight through his upper arm. The mutant warrior screams in agony as blood splatters across your face and his shoulder, the three tips of your claws poking out of his arm.

You cock your other arm back, ready to finish it - and in the light of Berzerker's eyes you see Charles staring back at you reproachfully. And you remember Hank, remember Magneto's grief, Scott's fury. You imagine the scream that long-tongued girl would let loose seeing her pal, boyfriend maybe, be gored on the end of your claws.

You'd seen the pit these people had fallen in, and then decided to leap in after them. You'd thought yourself above all their rabble, that you were a different kind of animal.

But maybe that was just arrogance. You pull your claws back into your clenched fists and let Berzerker fall to the ground. You take two steps back, watching him coolly. "Rickard. Talk."

"Fuck!" He screams, clutching his arm as blood drips down to the mat. "I don't fucking know, man! We sent him to go deal with his asshole cousin, get him to stop harassing our smugglers, but he never came back!"

He pants heavily, panic starting to overtake his rational senses. "Nghhh.... Newark, we sent him to Newark, across the river! That's where his cousin is... If you want to know if Rickard is alive, go find his cousin... Remy... Remy LeBeau!"

"Hmph." You turn to face the announcer, jerking your head to beckon him in. "Get him a healer." You raise your voice. _"And I want my fucking jacket back!"_

_"The- THE WOLVERINE WINS!"_ He says hurriedly as your jacket is handed back. The crowd parts to allow you through, but not before a burly bodyguard hands you a small stack of cash and a leather pouch filled with pits. "Your cut of the winnings. Good fight, man."

You pocket them, nodding absently. You'll let Piper know where to look next - hell, maybe you'll even look for her. But for now you had dinner to eat - and cash to pay for it.

You could smell faint whiffs of ozone as you went back up to the market to get some food, and it didn't take long to realize that Cyclops was following you. He kept his distance, watching you for reasons you didn't care to determine. Getting back to the tavern, Piper met you quickly at the door, escorting you to a table and sitting down next to you. "So, what did you find out?"

"'Zerker didn't see him die or off him, at least. Said he sent Rickard off to a place called Newark, across the river. To see his cousin, guy called Remy."

"Newark? Ok." She nods. "I haven't heard anything before about this Remy... Maybe he means..." Her face pales. "Oh shit, they're talking about Gambit."

"Mm?"

"He's... Uh." She pinches the bridge of her nose. "To call him a wild card would be really stupid, for reasons you really don't get right now, but he'd get a huge fucking laugh out of it."

"But he's been a major thorn in the side of folks here for a while. He just does whatever he feels like, which usually means stealing from smugglers bringing in food and supplies to keep his little operation afloat."

"But he disappears sometimes, for months at a time, just wandering around and raising hell." Piper sighs. "I've heard that Callisto wanted him for her crew, but he's never once wanted to join Morlock City."

"You think he'd hurt his own cousin?" You raise an eyebrow.

"I don't know..." She shakes her head. "Rickard always said that his family were pretty close-knit, so maybe they- uh..." She's interrupted as a caped shadow looms beside you two.

Magneto looks down at her for a moment before offering a smile. "Excuse me, miss, but I'm afraid I must speak to my associate here. If we could have a bit of privacy, I would appreciate it."

"S-sure." Piper nods, quickly vacating her seat so that the mutant leader could settle down, setting his helmet on the table.

"I thought I told you to stay out of trouble." He says, glancing at you with a neutral expression. "Care to explain what happened?"

You grunt a little, sinking back into your seat. The mental image looks less like sinking and more like shrinking, like a chastened dog. That rankles you, for reasons that escape your grasp. "Trouble was here before I showed up. Figured I'd help resolve it."

"Hm." He taps his fingers on the table. "Well, at the very least, you have a job offer."

"Callisto says that she wants the, and I quote, 'little guy with the badass claws' on her crew to 'carve up some normies like Christmas turkey'." He raises his eyebrows. "I told her you were with me, which made her quite put out."

You snigger a little. "Thanks. 'Sides..." you trail your eyes over toward Piper. "I already got a job to do."

More than one. You think to yourself, looking back to Magneto. You think of the shouting masses, the blood in the cages, the roars that echoed the beast within yourself. Maybe this city was a cage of its own. All the people circling 'round each other, ready to draw blood. And if somebody didn't unlock the doors soon, they'd tear each other down.

Someone. You, according to Charles.

...someone. You reaffirm to yourself.

"Mm." Magneto sighs. "I was afraid you would say that, because as much as my heart goes out to the young miss, we have greater concerns that require our attention. Mystique's cache of information warned me of an imminently dangerous situation that, if rectified, will save the life of a mutant, raise morale within our little group, and likely net us a new member."

You blink. "Oh yeah?"

"Cyclops' older brother, Havok, has been captured by the _homo sapiens."_ Magneto says gravely. "It is only a matter of time before our friends in Weapon X come to collect Havok to turn him inside out in their latest round of butchery they call science." His tone drips with venom. "So, we have no time to waste going back to collect the others. You, myself, and Cyclops will engage in this rescue mission ourselves."

"I had hoped to enlist some aid from Callisto to tackle a common enemy, considering some favors X-Force has done for her in the past, but she is unwilling to extend us any help in taking the fight directly to a US government holding facility." He grumbles.

The old man pauses, sighing. "If it were _Charles_... She would have listened."

You avert your eyes. You wanted to help that girl. You sincerely did. Serving a role, having a purpose, was as fulfilling as the knowledge you made at least one person's life a little brighter before it winked out. While yours smoldered on eternal.

But Piper seemed confident at the very least that Gambit wasn't likely to hurt his brother. And by all accounts, he sounded like a bad motherfucker, which meant Rickard was probably in good hands. It could wait until you had time. Piper wasn't the only person you owed a favor to, after all. Maybe Cyclops hated you, but you wouldn't wish the loss of a brother on anyone. You knew that sting all too well.

"...when do we move out?"

Magneto checks his watch. "As soon as Cyclops consoles himself over the amount of money he lost on your victory.” He pauses at your bemused look. “I'm not one to heap bad news on top of bad too soon."


	4. Halcyon Summer Days

Awaken the Wolverine

Chapter IV: Halcyon Summer Days

 

[A bell rings distantly,](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D0QMg6tUNn5w%26list%3DPLh4Eme5gACZE-KpXJDc4zzfBChblsFA34%26index%3D14&t=NjIxYzI1ODg1NjYxZWVhNDQ5NDIxNDI5MmJmNzkwNGVjMWNkZTAzZCwzMWlrOHlnMw%3D%3D&b=t%3Axi3AzCzi9Wm18h93bATJBw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwolverinequest.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F166954906144%2Fchapter-31-halcyon-summer-days&m=1) a reminder of how short your time was running as you, Magneto, and Cyclops stood at the southern tip of Manhattan, staring out across the open expanse of water at the Triskelion, a federal institution supporting all of the shadowy spy agencies… the CIA, NSA, FBI, even SHIELD. According to the intelligence that Mystique left behind, Havok was being held there for a period of time before their friends in Weapon X came to take him away to their own headquarters. 

Cyclops wasn’t taking it well. For the last hour he’d been offering to just take his visor off and burn the entire facility down, which Magneto seemed to believe he could do. Rubbing your chest, you weren’t entirely sure they wouldn’t kill him first, but the boy could do some serious damage. “As delighted as I would be to see that ruin of human degeneracy torn down to rubble, we must be a bit more discreet than that, my young friend.” Magneto says, thinking about their plan of attack. “But we don’t know where your brother is inside of there and we don’t know what countermeasures they may have, so we must take more precautions before we reveal ourselves.”

“This isn’t exactly like storming a girl scout fundraiser, Magneto.” You grunt, your trained vision spying out cameras, spotlights, security patrols even at this distance. “Even if we do go in stealthily, there’s no guarantees we can reach the boy before we’re caught.”

Cyclops bristles, his fists clenched. “I’m not going to let Havok waste away in there until Weapon X comes to turn him inside out like a biology experiment. Whether you two have my back or not, I’m going in and getting him out!”

“Cyclops, we will always have your back.” Magneto retorts with a tired expression, giving you a pointed look. “But I want you to think: What would happen if the alarm was raised? How do we get out of the city? What if Weapon X shows up with more of our enslaved brothers? We can’t risk a battle out here. Not yet.”

You frown, squinting. “How the hell do we even get on or off that island?” You mutter. “There’s no bridges or tunnels… We either have to fly or swim.”

“I can get us onto the island with my abilities.” Magneto replies, though his tone doesn’t give you a lot of confidence in that plan. “Once we’re on the island, we can disable the security alarms and determine when Havok is being taken away and where he’s being held.”

Cyclops is still for a second. “What about a diversion? One of us allows ourselves to be captured and can work to break Havok out from the inside.” He is desperately clinging to any plan, any idea that would get him one step closer to his brother.

“…There’s a possibility that could work, but the risk would be monumental.” Magneto says softly.

Magneto's holding something back, but you don't want to push it right now - not in front of his own pupil. And besides…Cyclops’ idea has given you one of your own. "Cyclops is on to something, I think. One of us gets in there, he can figure out where Havok is, maybe get him out without risking the rest of us. Me. I can get in there." You toss a look at Cyclops. "After all, far as they know there's no reason I ain't still their mule. I could walk right in there and nobody'd look twice at me."

Your two companions look at you with expressions of shock and confusion. Cyclops looked more confused than his mentor, working through a whirlwind of doubts and hopes as you made your offer. “That’s _insane_ -” Magneto begins to sputter, unsure of your plan. “There are no guarantees that would work, and-”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand. “We don’t have time t’ be arguing about this, Magneto.” A curious sense of confidence filled your chest, you knew this was the right plan, it had to be. They wouldn’t have to risk themselves and you could prepare the way for Havok’s rescue. And if Magneto didn’t want to share information, well, it was fine for you to have your own ulterior motives… This might bring you one or two steps closer to finding Victor.

“You’re really serious…” Cyclops mutters, staring at you. “H-how do we know this isn’t just… Sleeper programming? You’re finally close to-” He stutters, processing his thoughts. “You’re finally close enough to turn in two more mutants, and this, this is all just-” You felt your heart drop at his words. Whatever had happened to the boy, he had learned not to trust the world.

In so many ways, you could relate to that distrust. The world had not been kind to you either.

“Because I’m not going to go in dressed like this.” You tug on your plaid shirt. “It’ll be suspicious. No, we’ve got to make it look like I’ve finally wandered in from the cold after a botched mission. So, you’re gonna have to make it look convincing, Cyclops.” A grim smile cracks your features. “You’re gonna have to blast me.”

Magneto twitches slightly. “They’ll notice you don’t have adamantium…” He grumbles, concerned that his leadership was being supplanted. You shrug in response, not really perturbed by that.

“It’d make sense you’d rip it from my body in a fight, and besides…” You reflect on your muddy memories of what it was like to be a pawn for Weapon X. “All I have to really do is scowl and act like a robot. Let them make all the assumptions they want about how things went wrong.” You turn to Cyclops. “Now c’mon. Do your thing.”

The boy nods slowly, his hand rising to activate the visor as you closed your eyes and braced yourself for what was about to happen. This was going to hurt like hell. You barely registered the crackling hum before the wave of crimson energy smashed into your chest, crushing you to the ground and burning away your flesh. You couldn’t help but scream in pain, twitching and writhing in the darkness that came from your eyes being boiled out of your skull. The pain abated bit by bit, sanity bleeding back into your mind as your body stitched itself back together.

When you could finally see, you realized that Magneto and Cyclops had quickly left, leaving you there to regenerate. Your clothes were burnt, your shirt in tatters falling off your body. Breathing in deep gulps of air helped with the animal panic that clawed at your heart, the mission returning to the forefront of your thoughts. You looked the part of a battle-roughed weapon of the government.

Now you just needed to get their notice.

Wandering through the city, it didn’t take long to draw attention from civilians. They looked at you with a mixture of concern and fear, wondering what in the world could have happened to you. You paid them no mind, doing your best to act the part of a weapon wandering home. You made it as far as Central Park when a squad of Sentinels stopped you, weapons drawn from the hip.

“Identify yourself, citizen.” One commanded, armored with gold embellishment on its purple plastic casing. Obviously the leader of this squad, if such a thing was necessary amongst robots. You kept walking forward, acting as if you didn’t recognize their presence. “Identify yourself, or we will have to detain you with force.”

You kept walking. A member of the group placed a hand on your shoulder, and you whirled around with a feral screech, claws extending to slash through its offending limb-

 _“RRR?”_ You growl as your claws get stuck halfway through its forearm, unable to cut easily through the metal.

“Mutant detected, run primary diagnostic.” One of the Sentinels remarks as the one holding you draws back its hand for a brutal palm strike to your chest, sending you flying back several yards. You wheeze in pain, knowing that hit cracked several ribs.

“Cease hostilities.” The gold-marked Sentinel implores as you step back to your feet, charging at them wildly. One sentinel grabs your wrist in a vice-like grip, but you slash its face with your free hand, destroying its photoreceptors and blinding it. The other sentinels freeze in place, though, as the gold sentinel continues. “This is a registered mutant, classified GVAS-023-X. Reporting location to the proper authorities…. Processing…. Initialize countermeasure: Lima, Tango, Foxtrot, Bravo, Bravo, Sierra.”

“Agent Howlett.” The Sentinel calls, and you stop in place in recognition of your own name. “Cease all motor functions.” Realizing that it must be some sort of subliminal code phrase, you relax and stand still, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

In only a few minutes a heli-plane arrived, landing in a nearby street as police cordoned off the area. Three men in black jumpsuits hopped off the vehicle, flanked by soldiers in power armor and armed with shielded miniguns. These government types didn’t pull their punches.

“What the hell is one of Stryker’s mutants doing out here?” One of them wonders as they approach you. “And didn’t they report it as a total loss?”

Another agent shakes his head, his breath stinks of chewing tobacco. “Who fuckin’ knows, man. Let’s take it back to the Triskelion for debrief and tell those assholes at Weapon X that we’ve picked up one of their toys.” He steps closer, looking you in the eyes. “Agent Howlett, my name is Special Agent Deacon with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Espionage, and Logistics Division. You’re going to come with us now.”

You nodded mechanically, fighting the urge to smugly grin at your deception. Following them onto the heli-plane, you prepared yourself for whatever was going to come next.

The heli-plane soars across the Hudson Bay towards Triskelion island, the three towers stabbing into the evening sky like glowing knives. You were almost amused by the timing of events. This morning you were entering into one of the last bulwarks of mutant freedom, and now…

[You were entering into unknown enemy territory.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lUDYd95dH2Y)

“Prepare for docking procedures.” The pilot intones without much passion. Your ears pricked as you picked up on the conversation over the radio. “Triskelion Tower-3, this is Echo-9-9, requesting permission to land. Transmitting the docking codes now, copy.”

The radio crackled for a moment before a bored operator responded _. “Acknowledged Echo-9-9, you are cleared to dock, copy.”_

“Thanks, Triskelion Tower-3. Over and out.” The pilot clicks off the comm. You try not to appear curious to see where you’ll be landing… And imperceptibly your eyes widen as you see a whole chunk of the island rise up from beneath the Hudson, massive doors opening to grant the heli-plane access to the flight bay. New York sure had changed since you had worked the beat as a cop.

The engines of the heli-plane whine slowly as the aircraft lands in the bay, the massive doors closing overhead as caution lights flash. There were several dozen different heli-planes of different models and purposes. _“Now closing bay doors.”_ An operator alerts. _“All hands, brace for docking bay descent.”_

The floor rumbles beneath your feet as the bay pulls back beneath the Hudson, locking into place with the rest of the facility. _“All foot traffic between Triskelion docking bay and main facility, you are now cleared to proceed with normal activities.”_

“This way,” Agent Deacon remarked, hopping off the heli-plane onto the flight deck. The other two agents of SHIELD flanked you as you stepped off as well, escorting you into the bowels of Triskelion island. You had to keep from gawking as you saw a massive battleship stored several decks over, with technicians and crewmen crawling over its surface performing repairs and upgrades. Deacon led you through a dizzying array of tunnels and corridors, and though you tried to keep your sense of direction you began to wonder if you could find your way back out of here. Your nose twitched as you passed through one plaza - you could smell food. Spying a sign directing you to ‘Cafeteria C’, you tried to divert towards it, your stomach growling. One of the agents caught you by the arm and Deacon turned to look at you incredulously. “Where you going, champ? Debrief is this way, you can get your munchies on when you’re done.”

You grumbled a little but turned to follow him. He led you even further on into the facility before opening a heavy metallic door and inviting you inside. The agent had you sit down on one side of a table as he sat down across from you, a wide mirror parallel to you both. Usually you had been the one interrogating other people, not the other way around…

“So,” Deacon pulls a manila envelope out and pulls out sheaves of papers, placing them in front of you on the table. Many were redacted, thick black lines of ink obscuring critical information…but you saw a small picture of you stapled to one of the dossiers. “Three weeks ago, Weapon X reported that GVAS-023-X, Agent Howlett, was MIA following Operation: Doorknock.” His gaze flicks up at you. “That’s you, if you had forgotten. You, Agent Creed, and Agent North were dispatched to eliminate the mutant terrorist cell called ‘X-Force’.”

He pauses, almost chuckling. “Reports of how that mission turned out are…inconclusive. However, Weapon X tentatively called the mission a success but were not expecting you to return to duty any time soon, if ever.”

The agent pauses again, reading one of the pieces of paper. “Honestly I have, like, a million questions going through my mind right now about how you could have possibly survived that meatgrinder and wound up on our doorstep, but right now the U.S. government has more pertinent concerns.”

His steel grey eyes flicker up to lock gaze with you, his jovial nature evaporating. “Weapon X has provided unconfirmed reports that you eliminated the primary objective, Charles Xavier, codename ‘The Professor.’ Can you confirm that he has been eliminated, Agent Howlett?”

You had anticipated this question – and the lie that you would follow it up with.

"Target termination unconfirmed. Probable survival of target."

“…Probable survival?”

You stare ahead, unblinking. “Successful incursion with the target suspected to be mental projection. No body recovered. Upon recovery, this Agent tracked surviving targets for several days but lost them. Professor among recognized scents."

Agent Deacon’s gaze flickers momentarily. Doubt? Confusion? He clears his throat, shuffles his papers, and glances over his shoulder at the mirror on the wall. After a moment he turns back to you, “So, you would say then, to the nearest estimation, that Charles Xavier is not only still alive and on the loose, but his powers have grown to the point that we can’t be certain if he’s even physically present anymore?”

You had to try, _very_ hard, not to smirk. “Yes,” you replied with a terse nod. This way Weapon X and SHIELD would be on their toes for a while chasing ghosts. Deception and misinformation were the keys to many victories in the past, you knew this from-

A tide of nausea and vertigo washes over you momentarily, making you wince. “Urgh.” You grumble, trying to focus through flashes of information, too much information, flooding through an opening the size of a keyhole. Charles hadn’t warned you that getting your memories back might feel like your brain being turned into a garden hose attached to a fire hydrant. 

When your vision cleared, you could see Deacon scooting back uncomfortably, and the cold barrels of a minigun a few inches from your face. A man in power armor stared down the iron sights at you impassively, waiting for you to make a move. 

“Agent Howlett?” Deacon asks, raising an eyebrow. “Care to tell me what the fuck that was?”

“…” You glance upwards at him. “Allergies.” You reply after a moment, sniffling for dramatic effect. 

Deacon wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a joke, but he laughed nervously all the same. “Allllright then. Ok. Stand down, corporal.” He waves off the man in power armor and clears his throat. “We’re saving the more involved debrief for the Weapon X guys when they come to pick you up, which will be in…what?” He glances over his shoulder at the folks behind the mirror. “Six hours? Tops? So just hang tight here, we’ll send somebody to grab you a bite to eat.” He closes the folder and stands, stretching for a moment… And you see a small slip of paper fall out of his sleeve and drift to the floor.

“Man, you are a buff little dude, Howlett. You do pilates?” Deacon asks before stepping out the door. 

You sit at the table placidly, calming yourself down and focusing on your surroundings. The sights, the sounds, the smells… The power armor in the corner reeked of machine oil and the man inside had a fluttering heartbeat. You could tell it was a man from the pheromones that definitely didn’t appeal to your sense of taste. It seemed he was nervous… Maybe because he was trapped in a room with what was ostensibly a killing machine. It occurred to you now that Deacon had not confirmed whether or not your adamantium had been taken away. Perhaps SHIELD could detect that sort of thing, perhaps they were leaving it to Weapon X to figure out. 

Whatever, you weren’t particularly interested in the soldier in a tin can suit. You focus your attention elsewhere. You can hear the scribbling of a pencil from behind the pane of mirrored glass, a woman muttering to herself. She had a placid heartbeat, too well-regulated for a normal rate. She was doing some sort of breathing technique. Something about her seemed…foul, almost toxic. 

You shrug internally. Nobody seemed to be paying a great deal of attention to you, so you stood and walked around the table, moving the chairs against the wall. The corporal in power armor jumped a little when you stood up, but seemed to relax as you started to do ridiculous poses and stances you assumed was close to pilates or yoga or whatever Deacon had said. 

“…Seriously?” You heard the corporal mutter, his voice tinged with something of a middle-class British accent. You glanced at him momentarily, an instinctual reaction to a curious distraction. Odd that SHIELD would have corporals from the UK. You continued your routine, carefully swiping the piece of paper from the ground and reading it.

‘Summer is in Block 3, B wing. I’ll create a distraction.’

You suppress a grin, crunching the paper in one hand and continuing your routine before heading back to your seat. So whoever Deacon was, he was on your side. 

Or they were on to you and this was an elaborate ruse. You frowned, considering this. If they were on to you, they’d just imprison you, right? Or perhaps there was something else to be gained. Whatever was going to happen, you hoped Magneto and Cyclops would show up soon to help take advantage of the chaos. 

You wait tensely for Deacon’s distraction, trying to appear like you aren’t apprehensively waiting for your chance to escape at the same time. Closing your eyes and bouncing one foot off the tiled floor, you breathe deeply and wait.

And wait.

Frustration was starting to build as the tension was dragged out further and further. You could tell that the woman behind the glass had gone off to do something else a while ago. How long had it been? A couple hours? The bastard hadn’t even done justice to his promise to have dinner sent your way! You just had to appear as the same tediously robotic and mindless slave until it was time to explode into action.

Pretending to be an emotionless killing machine was a lot less amusing after you’d had to do it for a while on an empty stomach. Even trying to be patient, this was becoming excruciating. Even the guy in the armor was beginning to grow bored, humming tunes to himself aimlessly while fiddling with his minigun. 

You figured your waiting was over when a rumbling boom upended the interrogation room and sent you flying to the floor. The lights flickered precariously overhead before finally settling down, and the door to the room popped open as the power fluctuations deactivated the magnetic locks.

You popped your claws with a feral grin, knowing it was time to jam.

“W-wait!” The soldier in power armor hustled after you as you went searching for Block 3. You ignored him, playing the part of the taciturn, mind-controlled soldier when he put a hand on your shoulder. “Where the hell are you going?” He asked, his British accent make him seem increasingly more pathetic.

You glance over your shoulder menacingly. “Doing what’s gotta be done, bub.” You grumble back, which seems to intimidate him enough to let you go, but he still chooses to follow you. 

His confusion only increased after the two of you rounded a corner and encountered two agents who didn’t seem to think you should be wandering around unsupervised or without powerful metal shackles on. It didn’t take you very long to quickly dispatch them and shove them away into a corridor before turning back to face him, claws dripping with blood. As you advanced, he held a hand up frantically. 

“WAIT!” He screeched, fumbling with his helmet as you charged forward. You had nearly sunk your claws into him when he pulled the helmet away, revealing pale white skin and yellow eyes. “It’s me!” He hisses under his breath. “Caliban!”

Oh. Well, that was close. You'd really rather not have to explain to Magneto why you gutted one of his mutant mules. Killing two mutants is a tragic accident of bad circumstances; a third, probably more likely to be seen as malice. "Sorry 'bout that. You're with X-Force, right? I'm here to help get out Summers, and anyone else we can while we're at it."

“Whoa, whoa, ok…” Caliban takes a step back, his heavy metal boots stomping on the ground. “Just be careful where you’re wavin’ those claws, alright? Jesus Christ, you’re like the bloody undertaker.” He glances over your shoulder at the dead SHIELD agents and winces. “Eugh. That is definitely going to leave a mark.”

You growl, grabbing him by the collar of his armor. “ _Focus_ \- Havok, and anybody else.” The tip of his nose is inches from yours and you can see sheer terror flash through his yellowed eyes. “Do you know where to go?”

The mutant tracker nods slowly, coming to grips with himself. “Y-yeah, I can sense Havok not far off, he’s close, yeah… Yeah.” He fumbles with his helmet, pulling it back over his head and sealing it with a quiet hiss. He stomps by you, pointing the way forward. “Th-this way.”

As you follow Caliban, you continue to grill him for any information he might have. “What d’ya know about Weapon X? Where are they? How soon are they gonna be here?” 

“Oh, I dunno, maybe another few hours. We should have enough time.” Caliban mumbles, not really answering the question. “Dunno where they are, though, sorry. I’ve gotten the scent off you and that other beastly fellow that came by and… Well. Did that. Thing. That you two did.” 

You pause for a moment, breathing deeply. Caliban had Victor’s scent, which meant he could conceivably track Victor down. You could find your brother and drag him out of this nightmare. Soon.

You arrive in Block 3 in the midst of chaos and destruction. Blaring klaxons and alarms signal the arrival of intruders in the Triskelion and already rapid response teams were being deployed. No sign of Deacon yet, though. Rushing through the holding cells in B Wing, you find a young man strapped down to a gurney being pushed through the hallway toward you…

The resemblance to Cyclops was unmistakable – same sandy brown hair, matching sharp cheeks. The man had to be Havok. But he was flanked by six Sentinels with a woman leading the way, stopping short as she sees you and your power-armored companion. Your nose twitches. This woman had the same toxic scent from earlier and her heartbeat had barely twitched despite the current situation. The badge on her black suit identified her as Walters.

“…Agent Howlett, Corporal Burke.” Walters notes flatly, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What are you doing here.”

Right, you had a contingency in place in case you ran into this kind of issue, which you and Caliban had discussed while on the move. "Prisoner watch," you grunt. "Ordered to monitor until alert situation is resolved." The corporal was to be your chaperone, so to speak, and should say as much - preferably without a hitch in his voice.

Fact of the matter was that this woman was setting off some mental alarms. Her scent, her unnatural calm, the fact that she was the only other escort beyond the Sentinels guarding Summers. With an unknown element in play, you weren't ready to charge in just yet - especially when your claws were barely effective against the machines. If your ploy goes through, wait for a good moment to get in a surprise strike on the woman. While the Sentinels fixate on you, Caliban can take Havok and run.

Walters narrows her gaze and steps forward slowly, her hand raised to keep the sentinels at bay for the moment. "Prisoner watch." She repeats your statement with a cold air.

"Y-yes ma'am!" Caliban says, clanking up beside you. "Ordered by Agent M-Molyneux to guard the prisoners, that's right, yes." The mutant stutters, trying to sound convincing.

You repress a growl of irritation at your tag-along's obvious anxiety. Hopefully this Walters woman just took it as nervous speech from being in the presence of several extremely dangerous walking weapons and not the nerves of a bad liar.

"Agent Howlett." She turned her steely gaze on you, striding forward. "Cease all motor functions."

You halt.

She comes close, staring you in the eye for a moment, before pulling a pen out of her pocket and jabbing it into your eye.

[Your vision vanishes in one side - the other burns red.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n2rVnRwW0h8) " _Rrrgh!_ " Snapping out your claws, you slash at Walters' face, intending to take two eyes for the one of yours. She shrieks, falling backwards and clutching her face as blood flows onto the concrete floor. Caliban swears mightily as viscera and blood from Walters' eyes splatters across the wall, the arc of your claws making a gory abstract.

"Subversive mutant activity detected!" One of the Sentinels squawks, drawing a pistol from its hip. "Engage Agent Howlett, neutralize with lethal force." The other five Sentinels pull their weapons in unison, all drawing a bead on you.

Walters shrieks and writhes on the ground, her heart rate growing out of control as she tries to crawl to safety. "You fuck, you _fuck_ , my eyes..." She hisses.

You lash out an arm, claws pulling inside your hand as you grab Caliban's armored bulk by the collar and toss him back, getting him as near to the cover of one of the open interrogation cells as you can manage. Then you dash forward, hoping to close ranks with the Sentinels and get them mixed in each other's line of fire.

Bullets punch through you, staggering you slightly as you crash against the gurney. You notice through the near blinding pain of your gunshot wounds that the sentinels are fixed on you, ignoring Caliban entirely. Growling with rage you cut down one of the nearest Sentinels, but your claws get stuck halfway through its chest piece. The machine warbles incessantly as the others continue to pump lead into you with machine-like accuracy.

Grunting, you kick the first Sentinel back and watch it clatter to the ground, some sort of fluid squirting from its chest and splattering across Havok's battered form. A well-placed strike takes out the glowing photoreceptors of another Sentinel, but you know one clean shot to the skull and this fight is over for you.

Time to get some cover - you slide between the legs of another Sentinel, slashing at the vulnerable wiring and exposed mechanisms that let it stand upright. Grunting, you hold it between you and the oncoming barrage of fire, stabbing your impromptu shield through the back of the neck - where all the commands from its head to the body flowed down from - to ensure it doesn't voice its displeasure with your manhandling.

"G-get down, Howlett!" Caliban shouts, hefting the minigun and opening fire while screaming at the top of his lungs. One of the Sentinels is held aloft by the stream of bullets punching through it until it's cut almost entirely in half. Caliban focuses on another before he promptly eats through the rest of his ammo, leaving only one active Sentinel left.

You grin. "That'a boy."

Rolling out from the wreck of your Sentinel shield, you throw yourself forward like a javelin, aimed to decapitate the final obstacle.

Muscles heaving, you slice off the head of the final Sentinel, but you feel a twinge of pain shoot up your arms as your claws crack and splinter from the strain.

Caliban comes out from his hiding place, worriedly looking them over. "I think he's sedated." He says in reference to Havok.

Walters is on the ground nearby, still blinded by your strike and breathing raggedly, trying to find her way out.

You throw a cool look her way, not really sympathetic after her little eye exam performance. You rip off a few of Havok's restraints with a grunt. "Grab one of these thing's guns and get him on your shoulders," you command, eyes locked grimly on your last quarry. You blow quietly through your nose. "I'll be right with you."

Walking with the heavy, deliberate gait of a man approaching an unpleasant but familiar task, you move to finish off Walters. With her dead, there would be fewer witnesses and fewer information to get leaked back to SHIELD and Weapon X.

"Do you... Hkk..." She inhales, stopping as she hears your footsteps. Caliban seems uncertain, but grabs a hold of Havok and one of the pistols, trying not to pay attention. “Do you have any idea what you're doing, Agent Howlett, the people you're betraying?"

She begins to cough...and you realize it almost sounds like laughter. "Or are you making up for a guilty conscience?"

You pause. "Too much guilt for that, lady. And not enough time in the world to make a dent." You can feel your claws steadily regrowing in your arms. You supposed you could simply snap her neck, but the wait was an excuse to keep her talking. "And you? Having fun with your little Gestapo act?"

"Pfft." She shakes her head. "Only as much as you ever did, Agent. Don't pretend you have the moral authority to look down on me, it's less insulting and more... Petty."

"Morals ain't got nothing to do with it. Or with me." You kneel down, grasping her by the scalp and resting your knuckles beneath the soft flesh of her chin. Your claws were almost at the length now that you could let 'er rip and reach into the grey matter in her skull.

"C'mon then. Get it over with." She grins.

You stare into the vacant trenches of red where her eyes used to be. Your claws have regrown, and rest ready to burst from between your knuckles at your behest.

Your eye twitches.

You sigh, and crack her across the temple with a single hard blow.

She drops like a rock, flopping over.

"Ok, well." Caliban gulps. "Glad that's over, shall we go find the lady in blue and get the hell out of dodge?"

"Lady in blue," you echo, looking back with a tilted head.

Caliban's masked face stares at you for a moment before he realizes. "OH. Right, that. Yeah, you know, she's been close by this whole time."

"Mystique," you catch on. So that's what Magneto had been so cagey about. "Alright, let's get a move on." On an impulse, you snatch up one of the Sentinel's pistols for yourself.

Never know when it might come in handy.

As the two of you flee the holding cells with Havok, you emerge into a scene of chaos. The Block 3 lobby is swarmed with agents and technical staff, some evacuating, some running into the fire, both literal and metaphorical. One of the large blocks of the facility was on fire from the explosion, and intermittently red beams of death would punch through the bulletproof glass and vaporize people.

"Uh. Looks like the cavalry arrived." Caliban mumbles.

Floating in the midst of the Triskelion towers are Magneto and Cyclops, the former keeping them aloft and protecting them from incoming fire while Cyclops wreaks as much destruction as possible on the bastion of _homo sapien_ power.

This was probably pretty cathartic for him.

For some reason, the indiscriminate fire into the crowds tugs at something unpleasant in you. Not a memory, more an...impression. Deja vu. "Alright, well. Time to signal them somehow."

You examine your surroundings, looking for a flare gun or some kind of explosive to set off and get the two mutants' attention. You pause, glancing down at Summers' brother. "Hrm." You swat him lightly on the face a few times.

"mmh" Havok blinks slightly after a few moments of intense swatting. "Whss goin on..." He mumbles, trying to get his bearings.

"Later, kid. Right now I need you to focus," you lean down into his line of sight, hoping his eyes don't prove to be another set of searing death rays. "We're here to bust you out, but we need your help. You got powers, yeah? Use 'em, make a big bang, whatever. We need to get our people's attention."

"M powrss?" Havok asks.

"Hear all that noise?" You point a finger up. "That's Scott. He's here for you. Now you need to be here for him."

"Scotty?" Havok tries to focus, staring up at his brother unleashing hell down on SHIELD's main headquarters. He grimaces, strains... And a few red sparks pop off of his chest, singing his clothes.

"This isn't working." Caliban says nervously. "We need to find Mystique and get out with her, this entire plan was stupid, stupid and insane, and we don't have time for this. "

"Yeah, starting to get that feeling," you mutter. You sling an arm around Havok to support him. "Well, where the hell do we go then? Flight bay, maybe?"

"... Yeah, yeah maybe." He nods. "Can you pilot one of their quinjets?"

"Maybe. Can't remember."

"You can't remember. Brilliant." Caliban mutters. "Come on, this way!" He jogs back with you towards where you had been interrogated in Block 2, the building starting to rumble as Magneto and Cyclops continue their assault. As you pass by some groups of SHIELD agents you begin to piece together that they're preparing for a counterattack - calling in military support, all SHIELD agents in New York, anyone who can retaliate to this attack.

You hasten your pace, half-dragging Havok along with you. You were running out of time, soon the counter-offensive would get to the complex and this fight would get a whole lot less one-sided.

You move quickly towards the flight bay, running at full tilt down the long tunnel connecting the subaquatic area to the rest of the Triskelion. Caliban rumbles after you, carrying the half-comatose Havok over one shoulder until...

When you arrive at the main doors to the flight bay, red alarms blaring, you see that the flight bay is in the process of emerging form beneath the bay, flight crews prepping Quinjets, interceptors, heliplanes, and even the flying battleship for a fight with Magneto and Cyclops.

Teams of crack troops with advanced weaponry were lining up, holding rifles that glowed with some sort of green goo on the inside or had pulsing red beams contained within their structure. They were augmented with purple-armored Sentinels, but there was one that drew your eye.

"...Oh fuck." Caliban mutters, skidding to a halt as he sees one golden Sentinel with a few purple accents. It had three arms and stood a solid foot taller than its compatriots. "It's an Alpha Sentinel."

The machine was giving orders to both the troops and the other sentinels, and you could tell that there was a poised and calculated intelligence behind even its smallest actions.

Right. Time to take stock: you scan for environmental hazards you can use to your advantage, take note of the advanced weaponry being touted by the soldiers. They hadn't taken notice of you yet, so the moment of engagement was in your hands-

The structure around you rumbles again, chunks of concrete collapsing from the ceiling and landing against the floor with a heavy thunk. The Alpha glances upwards and locks eyes with you.

"Fuck." You curse.

[The Alpha Sentinel's glowing eyes regard you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3BF3ogctWKQ) for a moment before it gives a few more orders to its squads, sending them off to board their ships. The machine walks towards you, its fluid motions almost human-like in comparison to its clunkier siblings.

"This is what a human might refer to as irony, I believe." The Sentinel speaks levelly, betraying no emotion or feeling. "Or perhaps, some might call it providence."

"Are you a god-fearing man, GVAS-023-X?"

"Yeah,” you reply warily. “Sometimes."

"My creator, Dr. Trask, created me with many peculiarities in mind." It replies, breezing closer with slow, steady steps. "He intended for the Alphas to be more than superior siblings to weaker brethren. That we had to be unique, as he was unique. I try to understand the meaning behind this, with success yet beyond grasp. But I think he would appreciate this happenstance that we should meet."

"In thinking of his curious nature, I shall indulge in a threat, GVAS-023-X,” The Alpha Sentinel extends its three arms, and from between each hand pops a set of claws, three to each hand. “Your God isn't here today."

"Mmmmm, yeah," you settle into a crouch, arms out to your sides, pointed inwards. Your claws unsheathe. "Kinda getting that feeling myself. Let’s dance."

"Ooooohhhh fuck me right in the arse why does this always happen to me," Caliban whispers.

The Alpha launches forward with a warbling battlecry, its metal claws clanging against your bone claws. Its battle style is eminently different from your own - you had quipped about dancing, but this thing was whirling, dipping, never ceasing in its movements. It was trying to make an opening for its third arm to slash in, and its fluid motions were more than a match for your speed.

You find yourself sinking into a defensive retreat, blocking where you can as you do your best to keep up with its offensive. You didn't want to risk making an attack yet - you knew bait when you smelled it, and that third arm could decapitate or impale you. Then it would be game over.

Caliban wisely backs the fuck up, keeping Havok safely shielded. It was your lucky break that this overconfident bucket of bolts had decided to wave off its reinforcements in favor of a one on one duel. The Alpha was definitely probing your defenses, trying to determine where your weaknesses were.

As the structure rumbled again, it twitched a little. "Initiate." It spoke suddenly, grabbing one of your wrists in a vice-like grip, plunging its blades into your gut, and launching you overhead to rendezvous with a chunk of the ceiling falling. It was only your dumb luck that it had miscalculated its throw, sending you flying into the side of the rubble and bouncing off as it hit the ground instead of being flattened underneath it.

"Gu-hgh," you let out a strangled cry as you return to the Earth - hard. "Agh...okay," you growl. "New plan."

You scramble for a weapon to use, one of those fancy light-guns or goo-rays laying around. You were pretty sure your pistol wouldn't be worth more than a light breeze against this asshole, and close quarters was clearly its specialty.

You see that there's a corridor leading off from the main tunnel that could lead to an armory or staging ground for troops. However, as you scramble to get more firepower the Alpha stops following you. "I was led to believe that GVAS-023-X was some sort of apex predator amongst humans and mutants." It says, watching as you scramble away. "Should I perhaps kill your fellow mutants in order to provoke this reaction?"

It glances at Caliban. "T-51B Power Armor. A sufficient set for optimal chances at survival." It starts walking towards him, which prompts Caliban to start turtling around Havok.

"Damn it...!"

You hesitate, torn between accepting the bait and likely entering into another losing match...or running, and leaving Caliban and Havok to their fate. Nobody needed to know you'd let them die. You could say they were killed in the chaos, if you even bothered to reconnect with X-Force. You could just...disappear...again. You'd done it before.

The memory of Caliban opening fire on the Sentinels, saving you from a barrage of bullets to the brainpan, makes your decision for you. No way in hell you were gonna let that little shit upstage you in bravery.

"When you meet your God, tin-man, let him know I'll be coming for him next." You roar and rush forward.

"Oh?" The Alpha seems almost pleased. "Magnificent."

You and the Alpha dash towards each other, claws whistling through the air as you both cut deep. A guttural scream is wrenched from your lungs as you feel metal pierce flesh, as you feel bone crack and rip. The punishment is nonstop as it continues to punch each blade into you, trying to overcome your healing factor and strength. You feel your claws splinter and fracture, regrow, and break again on those steel joints and carbon fiber innards.

 _That's right, Jimmy boy... Get in there, get mean!_ You could hear Victor roar in your ears, and your own war cries match the tenor of his brutal teachings.

At the height of the exchange, the Alpha suddenly lets go and dashes back, one arm hanging limply and sparking. You were bleeding heavily from multiple stab wounds and you could feel the warmth drifting out of your body as it struggled to keep pace.

"This is a more interesting fight than I could have hoped." The Alpha intones. "I am most pleased-" Its sentence is cut off as Caliban tackles it from behind, putting his armored shoulder into the blow and sending it flying towards you.  You lunge to meet it mid-air, driving your claws in an uppercut meant to piece its chin and enter its skull.

"GHK!" It is impaled on your claws and smashes into you, driving you to the ground under its weight and momentum. The machine sparks and heaves spastically, making your groan from the pain.

"'m not..." Caliban heaves, ripping off his helmet and tossing it away as you try to climb out from under the Alpha. "I'm not... I can't do this... We're getting out of here, don't care where she is...I’m not doing this anymore..."

"Grrrh-!" You moan beneath the wreckage, muscles straining as you lift...higher...higher...

You gasp as your arms go limp and the mech crashes back down atop you. You were too beaten, too ragged. Your body couldn't stand up to the test yet. "G-gh..." You choke a little, some blood flecking your lips.

Caliban glances at you, the terror in his eyes shining through. "Get up, get... GET UP!" He kicks the Sentinel off of you, which didn't feel too good either. "We've got to get the bloody hell out of here, c'mon!" He grabs you by the shirt and lifts you a little.

"Ungh-" You sway unsteadily, the removal of the pressure letting you breathe better. You can feel your strength returning, a steady trickle intensifying into a stronger stream. "Thanks," you rasp, coughing. "Yeah, let's get the hell out of here."

You search for an empty aircraft - or one lightly manned enough that you can _make_ it empty.

"H-hey." Havok stumbles over, more awake now. "What's going on? Who the hell is this guy, Caliban?"

"It's a long fucking story, man, it can wait." Caliban replies shortly, joining you in the search for an aircraft. The large flying battleship was already almost clear of the hangar, which really meant it was time to leave.

Searching the flight deck, you see one last Quinjet that hasn't launched, with a small crew of only two pilots. Or at least they might be pilots, it was hard to tell from a distance.  Hastening, you climb aboard the jet.

Claws brandished, you get their attention. "Get. Out."

"Oh. Sure." The men throw their hands up and quickly jump out.

You gesture impatiently for Havok and Caliban to join you, dropping into a pilot's seat.

"This is a tight fit." Caliban mutters, hunching over to fit into the jet in his power armor while Havok stumbles in and falls into a seat.

"Ah, come on...!" You yell, frustrated. You couldn't be certain if the impulse to hit this button and pull that switch was guesswork or the signs of memory. _Could use a little guidance here, Charles!_ You shout within your mind.

["Hey there," A voice says behind you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eyI635o2pmk), making you whirl in your seat with claws popped... And you see a lithe woman with blue skin and red hair, holding her side and grimacing a little. "Give a girl a lift?"

Caliban straightens suddenly, banging his head on the ceiling of the Quinjet. "Myst-OW- where the hell have you been?!" He demands.

"Got caught up with a man who was a little too handsy," She grumbles, closing the passenger bay behind her and stumbling up to the pilot's seat. "Move, I can fly this thing."

You blink, staring despite yourself. "...Whoah," you murmur appreciatively, before shaking your head. "You're Mystique. Know how to fly one of these- Oh okay." You obey.

Mystique starts powering the Quinjet up for flight and makes a face. "This thing won't get us far, it's got a malfunction in one of the wings. I'll try to get as much distance as I can out of it. Erik and Scott have bugged out, so they've at least taken some of the heat off our tails." The engines of the Quinjet whine as it takes off into the air, rocketing upwards at a rate that pins you to the deck. "Hang on."

You do your best to do so, uncomfortably reminded of your arrival at the Triskelion.

You really, really hated flying.

The Quinjet soars off, heading west away from the upturned hive of the Triskelion. Malfunction warnings were already beginning to pop up on the dash, but Mystique was doing her best to make it work. Even Caliban was starting to relax somewhat, clear of the immediate danger.

It would be twelve minutes later that you crashed somewhere in the woods.


	5. Blood Brothers

Awaken the Wolverine

Chapter V: Blood Brothers

 

[You lay in bed in the midst of a feverish haze,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aoQO3p8PxvA) shuddering violently as your small, weak body tried desperately to get warm. Even with a fire roaring close to your bedside, you felt so cold...your frail body was finally, finally beginning to fail you. Just like your father said it would, those nights when he would stumble in drunkenly, distraught over the failing health of his only son.

Voices mumbled in the shadows around you, indistinct faces matching them as you wandered in and out of lucidity. Mother was there – worried, frantic, unable to help you, unable to extract the disease destroying your lungs. Victor was there too, often off to the side, staring at you with a mixture of fear, fury, and...

Curiosity. Like a cat looking at a cornered mouse. He rarely spoke when you tried to rasp words to him.

There was a new face, too. Not the doctor your father brought from the city. He had a swarthy appearance, with a thick beard and dark eyes that carried something alien to you. "Papa..." your mother whispered, clutching his arm. "Papa, the doctor says it's tuberculosis... James... What can we do?"

You had never seen this man before and his scent was musky as he bent over you, clutching your chin and inspecting your pale, sweat-drenched skin. His nostrils flared as he took a deep sniff of your scent.

"It's the way of things, Elizabeth," he grumbled softly, leaning back. His accent was curious, not like anything you'd heard before. It sounded halfway like the impressions your father would make of Italians and Spaniards when telling stories of pirates and swashbucklers. "Nature runs its course. We'll just have to see if the boy's got the grit for it."

"..." Your mother is silent before laughing shakily. The sound made you scared. "G-grit. James? He's... He's not like that. He's a sweet boy, a sensitive boy, he's not like Victor at all."

"Well...that may just be the death of him." The old man grunted in response.

Your eyes sluggishly roll towards your mother and back to the man who was your...grandfather? There's a challenge in his eyes that itches something inside you, the way you sometimes felt when Victor refused to share a toy or your mother and father argued. A frightening, cold presence - less an entity and more a feeling - that you could see echoed back at you in the stranger's eyes. Your grandfather's eyes.

"Mama..." you croak, the single word wet and low. "Is this...grandpa?"

"Heh," he ruffles your stringy hair, his chuckle more like a low rumble in his chest. "He's like you, Elizabeth. Even like this, he's watching...watching and learning. He's got your wit." Grandfather stared at you for a few moments, the firelight dancing in his dark eyes. Your mother sobbed quietly, choking on the pain. Knowing that he was right... You were like her, you had always been like her. Victor was rough, and not always the fastest to catch on to things. If your father could look past the fact that Victor was another man's son, the two might get along.

You wished you could see that happen.

"Hnnn," Grandfather straightened up, scratching his beard. "Nothin' to it but wait and see." His nose twitches a little and he glances towards the door. "Victor's back. Best we start a new conversation. C'mon now, Lizzie, _filia carissima_. Let's go downstairs... Your old papa could kill for a drink."

He hesitates, and turns back to tap two knuckles against your cheek. "Don't worry, boy. Wrestle with it. When the beast is cornered, it comes out fighting." He shares a toothy grin and follows mother to the door, where they find Victor on the other side, eavesdropping.

"Tend to your brother, little Victor. He needs your strength." Grandfather grunted, patting your brother on the shoulder and guiding mother down the hallway. Victor watched after them for a moment before walking over to your bedside, staring at you numbly.

You avert your eyes, unable to withstand the intensity of your brother's gaze. You loved him, you really did. But sometimes it seemed as though he wasn't really there, in his own skin. Something else sometimes peered from those eyes of his. 'The beast', if that's what Grandpa had meant.

"Are you o-" you cough, biting back a gasp of pain. Swallowing heavily, you try again, slower. "Are you…okay?"

Victor's hand reached out, grabbing the sheets in front of him, balling them up in his grip as he stared at you. "Th..." he tries to speak and stammers, swallowing down the ache in his throat. "They say yer gonna die..." You can hear stitches pop as his grip tightens on the sheet, tearing the cotton fabric.

Your hand reaches up of its own accord, dragging itself along the sheets until your fingers brush against his knuckles. You hope that the touch can offer the comfort that words couldn't.

"It's snowin' outside." Victor mumbles, closing his eyes, trying to... Distract himself. "I knew it was gonna, could... could smell it a mile away. Remember last year, when we went out in the snow and we saw those wolves in the woods?" His voice is husky. "Y'member how they looked, how they... Ran through it like it weren't even there?"

"They looked after each other, relied on each other..." Tears hit your hand, gentle and cool against your burning skin.

You remembered. One, limber and graceful, with eyes of green and a coat of golden brown fur. Another, with dark brown eyes and a matching coat striped with grey. Two more, younger and smaller, with bright blue eyes and small legs that still bounded easily through the underbrush.

"They were family," you agree as well as realize.

Victor nods mutely, his hands shaking. More tears spilled down his cheeks, but suddenly black splotches filled your vision, and wracking coughs began to overtake you. Blood splattered across your sheets as you hacked, your body succumbing to the agonizing tuberculosis.

"...Jimmy...?" Victor whispered hoarsely.

"V..vict-" you cannot finish, overcome as you begin to seize and thrash. Your throat is filled with fire. Your heart is frozen solid. Your head is alight with lightning.

You were raised to believe in a higher power. In an all loving God who, through grace and love, brought man into the world and showed them light where they would've lingered in darkness. To those who believed in Him, a paradise was promised, and life everlasting.

You had never believed all that much. And that, maybe, was why now you were dying. You would die, and go to Hell. What was Hell? The absence of God? A pit of fire? Nothing at all?

What was God? God was...good. Good, love, family, joy.

God was Victor, your mother, and your father.

Hell was the pain of being separated from them, now until the end of days.

No.

No. _No_. **_No._**

You rage at the failure of your body, the spirit growing ever more wroth but your flesh continuing to fail. Your Grandfather's face looms in your mind's eye, overlain with your mother's anguish, Victor's pain.

[Something in you _bursts_.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0IJEiJmrXm0)

Everything goes black, and for moments that feel like ages, you float in the void. Everything hurts, every single inch of flesh and bone is seared with the worst pain you've ever felt. But it also felt... Purifying. Maybe the fires of hell weren't meant to torment, but to purge the foulness of the mortal shell, to cleanse you of your unrighteousness... As an angel put the burning coal to Isaiah's lips to make him clean before the throne, so did God place a brand against your immortal soul.

 _"So... Was this the moment?"_ A kindly voice spoke, familiar and yet so distant. You had yet to meet, but you could feel his warmth permeating your senses for a moment, time twisting on itself as memory met reality...

But the pain does not abate, but it increases, and it wrenches a noise from the darkness. A scream, an agonized scream. Your own voice, so loud and strong, stronger than you had ever heard it before. And the scream soon became something stronger - **_A ROAR. A HOWL._**

You ran through the snow, inhaling the scent of the world around you, the sounds you had never heard before, the purest experience of life you could have ever imagined. This was euphoria, sweeter and more amazing than you could have ever possibly imagined before. If this was paradise, then perhaps death wasn't so bad to endure for this.

And you were wrong... You didn't have to be alone. You saw mother, and grandfather, and Victor with you, all running in the snow. You were the wolves, you were part of the pack, elated in your belongingness. And to either side, the pack spread across the frozen plain, scores upon scores with coats of dusky black, pale white, toasted caramel, and many, many more.

And then you tripped.

Falling face first into a bank of snow, you were wrenched from paradise into reality... You were naked, freezing, and as you yelped and leapt from the pale snow, you realized you were covered in blood. Your hands were throbbing with pain, the scent of blood was choking, and...

Your hands raised up in front of you, six new claws shiny in the moonlight, the blood almost black as it dripped to the snow. Your ears twitched as you heard something in the distance. Footsteps. A voice.

Victor.

"JIMMY!" Your brother howled in fear and desperation. "WHERE THA HELL ARE YOU?!"

Your head swivels sharply from one direction to the other, a sudden terror replacing the exhilaration of your run. Although your hands do not hurt, the sight of the claws and the blood that soaked them repulsed and befuddled you deeply.

You scream, and only when you have finished do you realize you had regained the ability to scream.

You were cured.

Victor soon found you, stumbling into the clearing with a dumbfounded expression... But as he beheld what you had become, a smile spread across his face, revealing those two curiously pointed fangs.

And so, the pack welcomed another member. The pup had become a wolf.

**_ XxXxX _ **

["Get those helicarriers in the air, now! I want all of our air power flying, and I want it done yesterday!"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=15hyqtDQSyc) A howling voice rose over the chaos of the Triskelion, a note of order that dragged discordance into harmony. His will was that of iron, and his temper was synonymous with his last name. "I want to know who the hell was dumb enough to come knocking at our door, and I want their asses nailed to the wall!"

Brigadier General Nicholas Fury watched the flames rising from SHIELD's central headquarters with simmering rage. The night's events had quickly gone from peculiar to goddamn apocalyptic in a few short hours, and he wanted answers. "Get the governor on the line, I want New York National Guardsmen at every road and every bridge and EVERY PORT! NO ONE GETS IN OR OUT WITHOUT OUR KNOWLEDGE!" He barks orders at his attendants whilst in the process of surveying the damage.

"General!" One of his staffers, Agent Sitwell, jogs up with a team of black-uniformed soldiers in tow. They were led by a rough-looking character, shaggy, unkempt, and utterly taciturn. Sitwell salutes briefly before clearing his throat nervously. "This is a team from Weapon X that had come to collect the terrorist codenamed Havok, as well as an errant asset codenamed Wolverine. We think this entire attack was an attempt to break Havok out of prison."

Fury chews on his cigar and stares at Sitwell incredulously. "Are you telling me that _Mag-fucking-neto_ just dropped a fucking mutie-nuke on my command center, starting a war, because we had one of his foot soldiers in lockup? The crazy Kraut must have lost his mind." The general was already beginning to weigh the primary, secondary, and tertiary consequences from this attack. Hyperbole aside, he knew this was Magneto's work...he just hadn't thought Magneto would retaliate so swiftly and so bitterly to the assassination attempt by Weapon X. It had not been Fury's style or preference, but he had majorly underestimated Magneto's temper if this was the result of Weapon X's attack.

God only knows what would have happened if they'd succeeded and managed to _kill_ Xavier.

"...The squad from Weapon X says they can likely track down the lost asset and the escaped prisoner." Sitwell informs timidly. "We just gotta let them off the leash."

Fury inhaled deeply and walked past Sitwell, getting face-to-face with the gruff, unshaven warrior leading the group. Sabertooth, Victor Creed, a rather nasty customer if Stryker was to be believed. "You do this by the book, son." Fury growls, the thick stench of cigar smoke making Creed's nose twitch. "You bring those mutants back, and you bring 'em back alive. No eviscerations."

Sabertooth stared straight ahead for a moment, almost as if he hadn't heard Fury's orders... But finally glanced downward. "Yessir," he acknowledges, turning on his heel and leading his men to the VTOL.

**_ XxXxX _ **

You woke up first. You know you did, from the languid heartbeats around you. The rest had yet to shake off the rather concussive effects of a crash landing in the middle of the woods. You would probably have woken up faster, if there wasn't a jagged piece of metal puncturing through your pelvis, just inches from the ol' bait and tackle.

The bitter cocktail of smoke, motor oil, blood, and metal made your nose wrinkle. You were getting really tired of these overpoweringly disgusting smells. As your eyes adjusted to the low light, you saw Havok not far away, strapped into his seat safely, though you could see faint drops of blood trickling from his nose. Nearby, there was a pile of metal that was presumably Caliban, still in his bulky power suit. You could faintly hear his heartbeat fluttering inside the metal shell...

Mystique was strapped into the pilot's seat, though her head lolled to the side as she remained unconscious. Shards of glass twinkled in the faint moonlight... They were embedded in her face, arms, and chest, likely from the shattered windshield of the cockpit.

This was why you hated flying. You couldn't remember the last time, if there had ever been a first time, that flying had ever ended well for you. And now here you were, in the ass end of wherever, almost naked and imitating a piece of meat on a spit.

You decide to rectify that problem first, gripping the end of the shrapnel pinning you to your seat and easily dragging it out of your mending flesh. After the whirlwind of pain that the Alpha Sentinel had put you through, it barely tickles in comparison.

Rising easily, you decide that Mystique looks the most in need of immediate care, and search around for some cloth to bind the wounds before you get to the business of removing the shards. You'd use your own clothes if you...well, had any. The bloody, ragged and faintly singed tatters of your trousers probably wouldn't be the best idea for a field dressing.

Searching the crashed Quinjet, you're able to scrounge up a med kit bolted to a wall that was now the floor. In the midst of your search, you hear Caliban groan in pain... And then the back hatch of his power armor pops open with a hiss of air, letting the albino mutant fall out and flop on the floor. He yelps in pain from the landing, and you wince, realizing he's sporting a broken ankle.

"Bloody... Fucking... _Cunt_..." He moans, in so much pain he's almost on the verge of tears.

"You can say that again," you mutter, finding it a little difficult to empathize with the albino's distress given your own waking situation. Still, given that Caliban's awake, you figure you ought to at least throw him something to dull the pain of the med kit has anything.

Opening the package, you find a curious assortment of items: some sort of black plastic brace which collapses to about the size of a roll of coins, rolls of faintly glowing bandages, syringes with different markings on them – "Adrene”, "Morph", "Sedat", "Panac", "Activa.”

You follow your instincts and take a syringe of Morph, injecting a half-dose at the site of the swelling before Caliban can protest. The albino screams and curses out your mother, who was definitely a syphilis-ridden whore who had relations with not only one, but two donkeys that had some sort of rarer, more diabolical syphilis. He's quite fortunate that your mother wasn't here to hear that.

"Got that out of your system?" you drawl, giving the medicine a moment to begin taking effort before you start binding the ankle.

Caliban whimpers, but the morphine begins to take its effect slowly but surely. Once he's all bound up, you begin the slow process of pulling glass shards out of Mystique and bandaging up the wounds. Caliban managed to wake Havok up in the meantime. The older Summer sibling nursed a bloody nose and was still a little loopy from the drugs that SHIELD pumped into him, but he would be alright. Probably.  If not, you had a little package filled with more drugs to pump into him that might make him a little more alright.

After a while, Mystique's eyelids flicker open. She glances at you, unfocused, before one blue hand comes up to jab you in the throat, making you gag and choke. She inhales sharply and rolls off the seat, her golden eyes wild and panicked.

"Grk-!"

Ah, yep. Crushed windpipe. Great. You hack and hold your throat while it un-crushes itself, not very fond of the feeling of your neck rearranging internally.

"Mornin', Sunshine," you rasp when you're capable of regular speech.

"H- h-" She inhales and exhales, gathering herself. "S-sorry. Not used to waking up with people hovering over me." She picks herself up off the floor, running a hand through her mane of red hair. "How long have I been out?"

You take a glance outside. "Looks like we were all out for an hour or two."

“…Shit," Mystique immediately snaps to attention, quickly gathering up supplies and taking stock. _"Shit, shit, shit."_ She swears repeatedly, looking outside. As she runs about the Quinjet, you detect the rumble of thunder and the first drips of rain... A storm is passing through. "We need to get moving, _now_. If SHIELD catches us, or Weapon X, all of this was for nothing."

Havok helps Caliban to his feet, using his broad shoulders to help brace the albino. "Where are we supposed to go? Caliban has a broken ankle, our bird is shot down, we're all beaten half to hell..."

Mystique pulls a jumpsuit out from under a seat and throws it to you to cover up. You pull the brown-and-orange attire over you, feeling a little more human with clothes on your back. "We go over to Jersey,” she explains. “I have a contact there who'll get us back to the old X-Force base."

"...." Havok's expression darkens. "X-Force, yeah, that's the _last_ place I want to go. Charles and Erik promised me they'd keep Scott out of this shit." He throws a hand back towards the general direction of the Triskelion. "Real glad to see they took that so seriously."

He shakes his head. "I'll just go to Morlock City."

Caliban nods weakly. "That sounds like a great idea, really. It's been a lot of fun, love, but maybe it's time we all cashed in our chips and called it a day, huh?"

You raise an eyebrow. "You don't want to at least see him first?"

Havok hesitates at your question, suddenly uncertain about his next move. Mystique presses the advantage, "Listen, Alex. This didn't go nearly how I would have liked, but we weren't about to let you get cut up by Stryker and his thugs. We couldn't do that to Scott. I know... I know things haven't been great for a while. There's a reason we all went our separate ways, but this is not the time to hash out those issues." She steps forward and pokes a finger into his chest. "Right now, we _survive_. And if we don't all work together, we certainly won't last long."

"Amen to that," you look around, sniffing for any approaching scents of metal and oil or the sweat of approaching grunts. "So - where to?"

"South by southwest," Mystique replies, shouldering a pack. "We move as quick as we can." She pushes through the wreckage and out into the rain, opening her mouth briefly to allow some drops to fall in and cool her parched throat. The rain was chilly, but you had to admit it felt good. It'd been a while since you had experienced this. Alex and Caliban hobbled out after the two of you, following Mystique's lead towards her contact in Jersey.

"By my estimation, we crashed on Staten island. There's a lot of bridges over to the Jersey side, so as long as we don't get detected by SHIELD, we're free and clear." Mystique remarks, shapeshifting into the form of a shapely brunette. You blink twice, the sudden change taking you aback before you realize that must be her mutation. What a perfect ability for a spy. Flawless imitation.

Flawless in all the right curves, too. You _really_ needed to get laid.

"We don't exactly make for a low-profile party," you point out, gesturing to yourself and Caliban in particular. "How're we supposed to stay under the radar?"

She glances back at you, pondering that. "...We could hit up a fire and rescue station, steal some uniforms and an ambulance?" Mystique shrugs. "Other than that, we wing it. Working out really well so far."

You look back at the crashed Quinjet. "...Uh huh. Well. Not like we have better options. Lead the way."

"I will, thanks." She replies a little hotly. With Mystique eading all the group through the woods, you all emerge after a while in a nearby suburb. The town was deathly quiet, and the only thing you could hear was the cacophonous fall of rain. Wandering through the empty streets, you all came across a small fire and rescue station, with the bay doors open. Two EMS volunteers were quietly playing cards while the news reported the chaos at the Triskelion. You noticed most of the firefighter trucks and ambulances were already gone... Likely up in New York. Only one ambulance remained, next to a marked SUV called a "chase" car.

"Alright,” Mystique begins. “We can take uniforms and that ambulance, but we can't leave any witnesses in any shape to blow the whistle on us while we're close."

You pull out the syringe marked _“Sedat”_ from your pack. "One of us gets in close, puts 'em to sleep? Nice and easy."

Mystique shapeshifts again, similar to her previous look with a lot less clothes. "They won't know what hit them." She smirks, taking the syringe from you and sauntering into the bay.

"I bet..." you stare after her, unblinking.

As Mystique does her work, Caliban shakes his head a little. "I wouldn't get accustomed to that, mate. Best to get used to lookin' away whenever she decides to flaunt it." He and Alex were pointedly looking up at the sky. "'Lest you get a really new and interesting bellend piercing."

Havok nods. "You don't want to chase after Mystique."

"...Mm," you murmur, having only been half-listening.

“Dude, she's Magneto's ex-wife, they have _kids_ ," Havok hisses as she seduces the two EMS volunteers. "If he finds out you've been eyeing her, he gets really, really pissed off."

That curdles your burgeoning interest.

Smothered right in the crib.

Snuffed that pupper.

"...In that case, I owe you both one. Magneto hates me enough as it is." You join the two in staring at the sky, feeling almost superstitiously paranoid that somehow Magneto would discover you'd been looking over his ex-wife days after murdering his best friend and decide to...thread titanium pipes through your veins or something.

Caliban and Alex nod, joined in a brotherhood of averting their gaze. "Poor Wyngarde kept trying to bed her, and it did not end well for him," Caliban mentions. "Back then we thought it was just because Magneto was still a little raw over the divorce, but then he uh... Well. Let's just say that later a French ambassador felt a kinship to young choirboys."

"What, Mystique didn't stop him? She doesn't seem the type to let other people do the 'talking' for her."

"Well," Alex says in a voice slightly frightened. "Let's just say that no one _exactly_ knows how that ambassador's balls fell off in the shower. And Mystique was never able to pin it on Magneto, but people's balls don't spontaneously look like they took a high dive through a blender. She's still trying to figure out how he got to Paris from Argentina and back in under an hour."

"Hey boys," Mystique comes back, holding uniforms in one hand and spinning a keyring on one finger. She had already shifted to appear as a EMT. "Suit up, let's get out of here."

You take your uniform, clearing your throat while keeping your eyes centered firmly about two inches above the top of Mystique's head. You could take killer robots, eye-laser mutants, and crash landings any day. But you were a little sensitive about your balls.

The thunder rumbles outside as you all change, and Mystique gets behind the wheel of the ambulance, revving the engine to life. As you get ready to board, though, [you're suddenly hit by a familiar, soul-wrenching scent.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vcrb6365GsQ)

"Victor," you breathe, the word spoken like a prayer. Or a curse.

"Huh?" Havok glances back at you, about to hop in the ambulance.

Relief. Joy. Surprise. And...cold realization. "DRIVE!" you bark to Mystique, grabbing Havok by the collar and dragging him into the ambulance.

She doesn't need to be told twice, gunning the engine and sending the ambulance careening out of the bay. As you make your departure, gunfire opens up from the shadows, bursts of light that signal the peppering of bullets against the walls of the ambulance. Caliban shrieks, dropping to the floor and covering his head as the bullets punch through, one hitting you in the ribs.

"Grr-!" you snarl, claws extending reflexively as your vision sharpens. No - not the time for that. You pull your claws back through your knuckles and stumble over to the driver's area, trying to get a read on the situation. "Well, what's Plan B?"

"Well, we could always- AAAAH!" Mystique screams in shock as a dark mass drops down on the hood of the ambulance, metal shrieking as claws punched through to grant the beast handholds. Victor looked up at you with dull, empty eyes, his glittering teeth not even bared in his normal sadistic smile. Mystique slams on the brakes, causing you to slam face-first into the windshield, and Victor slides backwards, his claws rending the hood as he struggles to hang on.

"Victor, enough!" you bark, although something in you must grasp the futility of your efforts, because your fingers find your way around the handle of your scavenged handgun. A bullet to the face wouldn't kill him, but it would hurt like a son of a bitch and get him off the car.

"RAAAAAH!" Victor screams in response, clambering back towards you.

‘God damn it!’ You pull the trigger to empty the remaining rounds into his face, praying that you don't damage his brain too severely.

The Sentinel's weapon, however, does not use bullets. This handgun shoots a beam of white-hot energy which melts through the windshield and cuts through Victor's head, leaving a rather large hole behind where an eyeball and an ear once were. Your brother stiffens in shock, before sliding off the ambulance and under the wheels.

You stare blankly at the melted hole in the windshield.

Mystique glances at you for a moment, as if trying to find something to say, but keeps her mouth shut. Changing gears, she flies around a corner and goes as fast as possible in the rain, zooming towards a roadblock before one of the bridges. "ALEX! GET UP FRONT AND WREAK HAVOC!"

The older Summers brother shoves past you, kicking the passenger door open and hanging out, squinting against the pelting rain. His chest begins to glow red... And a cannon of crimson fire shoots out, blasting through the cars and trucks they had hoped to block you in with. The ambulance speeds through, disappearing into the night. Havok pulls himself back into the ambulance, closing the door with a thud.

After they finally slip SHIELD surveillance, Mystique takes the ambulance to an abandoned warehouse in Newark, tiredly rubbing her eyes as dawn begins to rise. "Already, my contact is a little..." She scratches her cheek. "... _Eccentric_. Try not to take it personally, alright? Let's just get through this and get back to HQ."

"Mm," you nod sourly, your thoughts dark.

"..." She thinks about saying something again, but she doesn't really know you. Leading the trio into the warehouse, you find the interior to be oddly decorated - shag carpets of various hues across the floor, pink lighting, way too much cologne in the air...

 _"Ma chérie!"_ A thickly accented voice speaks out, and a half-naked man in some sort of sex swing twirls around to grin at Mystique. "You should have called, I would have cleaned, _nounours_." He winked roguishly at you. "It's been so long, why have you not come to visit me~?"

Mystique gives an almost humorless smile. "Sorry, Remy, it's an emergency. Didn't have time to send word."

Wait. Remy. Why does that sound familiar?

'Remy' hops down from the swing, grabbing a pair of jeans and throwing them on over the lacy black thing he'd had on as underwear. "Ah, I understand, I understand, bebe! That nasty business with the boys at SHIELD, non?" He smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. "You nasty girl, I love how you fuck so many people at once."

The sheer reckless audacity of that remark momentarily shocks you out of your shock, the bizarre mutant grinning as you stare open-mouthed.

For her part, Mystique seemed caught between wanting to rip Remy's tongue out or kick him in the balls, but she admirably powered through. "Yes, so I need to ask a favor of you. We need transportation up-state, towards the lakes. Can you do that?"

The man grins wider. "Why of course I can, _ma chérie_ , all you need to do is ask! I'll have the four of you out of the city and back to your home sweet home, or my name isn't Remy LeBeau!"

**_ XxXxX _ **

Remy LeBeau had been the man all of you needed to get out of New York. Using his system of contacts and "business partners," he had been able to smuggle you, Mystique, Havok, and Caliban out to Ellisburg, closest town to the old X-Force safe house where you had woken up. Before they had left, you had broached two topics with Remy: the matter of his cousin Rickard, and the chance to join up with X-Force.

The smuggler had merely grinned. Rickard was off in Baton Rouge, laying low until Berzerker and the rest of the gang down in Morlock City forgot about his debts. When the time was right, they were going to quietly extract Piper and send her down to be with Rickard. As for joining X-Force, Remy had laughed long and hard in response. He wasn't the type who followed orders real well.

And so you left. When they got back to the old safehouse, the others were elated to find Magneto and Cyclops had made it back in one piece. Havok rushed forward to embrace his younger brother in a tight bear hug, and the other two boys were excited to see Mystique, Havok, and yourself make it back okay.

But looming over the happy reunion was a stark, bleak truth... The cost of this happiness was a war. Humans had died at the Triskelion all to save one mutant. Already the news of mutant registration laws being revitalized was trickling down, which put everyone on notice.

In Magneto's office, you sat with Havok and Mystique as their leader quietly reflected on how his rash choice would negatively impact the mutant community. Havok was especially pained, knowing that people were going to suffer because of him.

"We need to put everyone on alert. All of our old allies, everyone from X-Factor. They need to come in." Mystique says quietly, putting her hand on Magneto's knee. "For their own safety, if nothing else."

Magneto gives a sad smile. "And where will we put them? This facility is barely operating with the small group we had to begin with... It's not like we have Charles' mansion anymore."

"Morlock City won't take us either,” Caliban says grimly. "Callisto has made it clear _we're persona non grata_ after that little stunt."

"We already fixed the water purifiers here," you point out. "We have a metal-bender and two kids who can make things blow up. We could build up this place."

"Making things blow up is not exactly subtle, James," Mystique looks at you. "We can't afford to draw attention."

Magneto pinches the bridge of his nose. "Work with LeBeau for as long as you can to get us more resources, maybe a new base of operations. See if something comes up. Caliban, try to get Callisto on the line and see if we can negotiate some sort of...agreement. Havok, try reaching out to some of the other former members of X-Force. See if they're willing to come back into the fold."

And then there's you - the Wolverine in the room. Not for the first time, you are painfully conscious of the fact that your capabilities and versatility compared to even Caliban are woefully narrow in this new world you've awoken to.

"Dismissed." Magneto says wearily, leaning back in his chair as the other three get up and leave the office.

You have a mind to leave, yourself. Your previous encounter with Victor weighed heavily on your thoughts, and despite venting some of that frustration into building up the durability of your claws you were still prickly and somewhat on edge. The action had only briefly subdued your anger, and now you were both tired and rattled.

Maybe you and Magneto had something in common, then. Though unlike you he at least didn't shoot the person he cared about in the face. His loss and the pain he felt was your fault, just like Victor.

Did that make everything, Triskelion, the coming crackdown on mutants everywhere, also directly your fault? You don't want to believe that, but the enemy inside is willing to agree with any accusation - and this one rings to the tune of truth.

"For what it's worth, I think you picked the best of a bunch of shitty choices," you murmur, rising from your seat to leave. "Most people would call that the right thing to do."

"That sounds like something Charles might say," Magneto replies softly. "He always wanted for me to do the right thing, and for him picking the best path out of... He always seemed to know what to do. No hesitation, no doubt. He always picked the best path. It looked so easy when he did it. Even when I had my doubts, even when I wanted to yell in his face that he was _wrong_ and I was _right_."

Magneto clears his throat. "...I just started a war. I broke a promise to start that war. If those were my best choices, then what sort of risks did I just take?"

"You had mutants being carried off to be prisoners and guinea pigs," you point out with some surprise. "I was turned into a walking knife to point for whoever held my leash. Mutants have to live in a dark, stinking hole in the ground while machines stroll the streets looking for the ones who dare to stick their heads up. The war was already on. You didn't start anything; but you did save someone. When you're at war, the right thing to do and the necessary thing are the same. It was right to save Havok because Cyclops gets to have his brother alive and with him. And it was necessary to send a message that mutants aren't going to roll over and play dead anymore. Triskelion was a valid military target, you weren't hitting civilians or rounding up 'normies to carve up like turkey.'"

Magneto digests your words, nodding slowly. "...I suppose you're right about that. We didn't target anyone who didn't have it coming.” A brief hesitation. “Thank you...that does help. I'm just afraid now for those I need to protect. I've let them all wander so far..."

"Don't worry 'bout it," you wave off the thanks. "You'll figure out what you need to do. And when you do, the people you need to protect? They'll come running. You just gotta show the world that you have a plan."

Magneto nods mutely, signaling that the conversation is over. James leaves his office, taking in the buzz of activity before him: Cyclops excitedly retelling the story of how he laid waste to the Triskelion, Arctic and Angel listening in rapt attention. Mystique, Havok, and Caliban all working hard to accomplish the tasks assigned by Magneto.

You wonder if this was Cyclops' first real outing as a member of X-Force. The almost manic energy bubbling out of him was ozone mixed with stripes of acid orange, a familiar mix of fatigue and rejuvenation you recalled from your first days of warfare so long ago. You hope he enjoys it while it lasts.

Deciding to make yourself useful in some way, you run down your mental checklist of the things you'd considered doing shortly after your awakening. The filtration system was fixed, so what else could you do...?

The biggest need at the moment was giving the radio tower a maintenance overhaul. It was old and his technical skills could get some more utility out of it. You decide there’s as good a place as any.

Heading topside, you breathe in the chilly air. Spring was coming soon, you could feel it, but it hadn't quite sprung yet. Climbing the radio tower, you reach high enough that you can see over the trees. Ellisburg wasn't far away, and you could see the suburban sprawl and cars moving about busily. The human world, so close but so far removed from where mutants could live in safety.

‘ _Logan_.’ A voice.

A voice in your mind, not that of Charles.

‘ _Logan_.’

You saw... A bird, whose feathers were lit aflame. A girl’s voice. ‘ _Logan_.’ Your grip began to loosen as his mind was pulled a million miles away from this place. You fall…and fall…and fall…

_‘Logan.’_

_‘Jean, STOP!’_

_‘Professor...?’_

Impact.

 


	6. Rubicon

Awaken the Wolverine

Chapter VI: Rubicon

 

["Mutation is the answer, Charles. It always has been. We are the future."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W8zoJCWtx3A&t=) Magneto wiped sweat from his brow wearily, pulling his half-conscious friend along behind him under the sweltering desert sun. "How many times do I have to remind you of that, and yet, here we are once more." He huffs angrily, wishing beyond all reason to just drop the heavy load and walk alone. "With me...dragging your crippled ass...across the damn ground...because without me, you'd be dead in a ditch somewhere."

Charles smiled weakly, his lips chapped and blistered. "And yet...you keep carrying me, Erik. I wish I had your strength..." he paused, turning to look at _you_. "But together...we can do much greater things than either of us could have ever done alone."

**_ XxXxX _ **

"...So are you dead or what?" A stick poked your face, startling you from unconsciousness. Above you, buzzards flew in lazy circles, trying to decide if you were a choice meal for them. Arctic, the young ice-controlling mutant, poked you again with a stick.

In a few moments, your memory returned... A girl spoke to you in your mind, and Charles had to intervene... But you lost consciousness, falling from the radio tower you were working on upgrading.

You growl irritably, snatching the stick from the prodding boy and snapping it in half. Your frequent visits to Death's doorstep since joining up with this crew were beginning to wear your tenuous affability out.

"Guess it didn't take this time, huh?" He stares up at the radio tower, shielding his eyes from the harsh sunlight. "Scott- er, _Cyclops_ said you killed a whole army of Sentinels to save Havok, that's pretty cool, right?" He gives you a sort of half-grin, reaching a hand out to you. "I mean, under normal circumstances I might be a little mad at you guys for starting a war, but it's not like my parents are gonna take me back anyways."

You accept the gesture and rise to your feet. "They did most of the work, the kid n' Mags. I just soaked up a few bullets.”

You're not sure what to say to Arctic's last comment. Given the choice of sticking your foot in your mouth or shutting up, you choose the latter.

"Did-" He tries to hold in a laugh, but can't contain it. "Did you just call Magneto 'Mags'???? Oh my god he'd wrap this entire tower around you and throw you into the sun if he found out."

Arctic grins. "Imma tell him what you said."

Before you can respond, Arctic darts back towards the hatch down to the facility below.

Well. It looked like you were due for a trip to the sun, then. But first...you wrack your brain. Xavier. You in there? Who was that voice?

The Professor is silent in response. Of course – when you actually _wanted_ his advice he was tight-lipped. Fine. 'Jean' was the name...maybe Magneto would know.

Following after Arctic, you went down the ladder into the main atrium. It didn't take you long to find the boy, who had stopped just short, eavesdropping on a murmured conversation between Mystique, Magneto, and Havok. Given your own senses, you probably heard the words better at a distance than Arctic did from his own spot. You clap a hand cheerily on his shoulder, murmuring "Oh look at that. Wonder what they'd say if they caught you eavesdropping. Guess we both should keep our mouths shut, eh?"

"Eek." He meeps quietly, shaking quietly when you put your hand on his shoulder. You catch brief snippets about "a signal," and "Looking for _James_ ," before Magneto notices your presence.

"We were just looking for you. Come to my office, now." He motions for you to follow, along with Havok and Mystique. Obedience is an old reflex. You trail mutely along, admittedly curious what could have the leader of X Force actively seeking you out.

Magneto settles behind his desk, keying the old terminal computer on his desk to life. "While you were out working, we picked up a very curious signal while trying to make contact with the other former members of X-Force." He glances at you warily. "For us to have found this signal, it meant that it was someone who knew our equipment and knew... That you were with us."

He presses a button, and a recording of a woman's voice emanates from the speakers with a scratchy layer of static.

"This is a recorded message for James Howlett, aka Logan, aka Wolverine. We are seeking you out for an employment opportunity. We possess information on the status and whereabouts of Victor Creed, aka Sabertooth. If you help us, we will help you. You will find one of our emissaries at Sizemore Park in Albany. This message will repeat in 5 seconds."

Magneto shuts it off. "Do you have any idea what this means?"

"It's obviously a trap," Mystique shakes her head. "We should delete it and get back to the real work."

"But a trap from who,” you ask, quick to make your case. This wasn’t an opportunity you were willing to let go. Not before seeing your brother again and certainly not after. “And why? Think about it - it would have to be someone with inside knowledge on your tech, right? If an enemy had that wouldn't they just request a meeting using someone you trusted? Wouldn't make sense to just call me somewhere. I'm not that heavy of a hitter."

"If they know about this old tech, they probably know about a lot of our old haunts." Havok folds his arms. "This is a good opportunity to find out who they are and whether they might sell us out. No offense, James, but you'd make good bait to find out, since you're the one they want."

"I'm used to playing bait. Don't worry about it." One hundred and twenty-seven times, in fact.

Magneto taps his finger on the desk. "Your account from that night implied Sabertooth had sustained a rather grievous injury from that weapon on your hip." He eyes the laser pistol with a bit of disdain. "Do you think they might have any real information on him?"

"If they do, I don't want to miss this chance. If I can get him free..." You shrug, scowling a little. "And if they don't, then I'll be more'n willing to waste them for screwing with us."

Mystique throws her hands up in frustration, walking out of the room. Sauntering... Out of the room. Keep your eyes to yourself, James, no matter how good that blue ass looks leaving.

"Mm." Magneto cups his chin in one hand. "Havok is still recovering, so he's too weak to go out into the field. Cyclops, however, has proven himself, so perhaps you should bring him as back-up."

Havok bristles slightly. "With all due respect, Erik, when I left you and Charles promised me that you'd keep Scott safe and away from danger, and yet here you are, throwing him back out there."

"If this is a trap, then you should only send people you can afford to lose." It was no secret that Magneto wasn't especially fond of you, and truth be told you were probably less useful overall to X Force than even Caliban. He was a mutant sensor, after all. You were just a walking knife...and you were only half of one pair.

Magneto raises an eyebrow, curious at your admission. "Hm." He smiles slightly, turning away. "Fine. Report back when you've uncovered the truth of this matter."

"On it."

You took the keys to the only car in X-Force's pool, heading up to the surface. Finding the car parked nearby, you got behind the wheel, breathing in the smell of gasoline and leather as the engine roared to life.  A machine... Somehow, you and those you fought with were being studied closely by the enemy. Trask and his Sentinels. The Alpha Sentinel, one of many created to have personality and ruthless intelligence... And one that was made to try and surpass you.

You had helped start a war, and couldn't quite control the feeling that perhaps, unlike many of the other wars you had fought in, this one was wildly skewed in the enemy's favor.

The drive to Albany took less time than the trip to New York City had - military ornicopters and the larger, heavier vertibirds flew past every hour or so, carrying soldiers in power armor. The radio held grim tidings from a somber, baritone man as he reported the emergency measures being taken to control the mutant population.

The death toll had been about 700 people, civilians and military personnel who had died in what was being called the Triskelion Terrorist Attack... But New York was strong and would rebound from the attack. Even tensions with the Chinese seemed to relax slightly in the face of the current grave threat.

Common enemies did wonders for easing national tensions.

If only the mutant community could follow that example...

What was it Xavier had said? 'Lost children, following blind leaders.'

Walking through the park in Albany, your senses told you that there weren't many other people around... Two children playing hooky from school, and older man reading a newspaper while sipping coffee from a thermos, a young woman feeding bread to ducks in the fountain. An oval-shaped robot trundled by, pushing a cart filled with sweets and cakes.

 _"Try Fancy... Lad... Snack Cakes. 4 Dollars for... One... Fancy... Lad... Snack Cakes...."_ It intoned electronically, its harsh modulated voice contrasting sharply with the calm environment.

You rummage through your pockets idly as you continue to case your surroundings. A snack cake wasn't exactly high dining, but goddamn if it wouldn't be a slice of sugary heaven compared to your meals in the last few days.

 _"Would.... You Sir.... Assessing.... Processing... Would You... Sir... Like a... Fancy Lad... Snack Cakes?"_ The robot stops, turning to face you, one stubby arm holding a cake out.

You take the cake, glancing between it and the robot. "Uh. Thanks, bub."

 _"Thank you... Sir... Enjoy your... Fancy Lads... Snack Cakes..."_ It opens a slot on its chest for you to put your four dollars.

You deposit the money and open up a cake, taking a small bite.

["They're quite primitive, aren't they?"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6FYXbXcBWGw) A young woman's voice, very familiar... Almost identical to the radio broadcast. Turning, you come face to face with her, immaculate, smiling at you. "Hello, James. I'm pleased you came out here to meet me. We thought this might be a longshot, but it seems even old intelligence can still be useful.

"Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Eloise, but I think you probably meant in a more broad sense than that." She smiles coquettishly, motioning for you to follow her to a bench. "Please, come sit. I promise you, I'll answer almost every question you might have."

"Alright, You sniff discreetly, alert for any hint of nervousness or deception.

She smells like flowers and bread, with a hint of smug satisfaction. Delicately folding her hands on her lap, she smiles at you before continuing her explanation. "I represent a company called Rubicon Incorporated. We have a vested interest in multiple industries, and the recent events in New York have certainly captured the attention of my employers."

"But thanks to you, certain opportunities have arisen that align with both of our interests, and we have information on Victor that should help sweeten the pot."

"And what 'opportunities' are they?"

She pauses, considering her next words. "Your battle at New York led you to face one certain opponent - a synthetic, artificial lifeform, an Alpha Sentinel. Your opposite, the model meant to emulate your purity of form. And you destroyed it." Eloise almost laughs at the irony. "That means analysis is required, and potential updates to the code of all the Alphas to ensure you never beat another one again. Which means that the Key will be taken out of top-secret storage, mobile, vulnerable."

"The Key,” you echo. “What's the Key?"

"It's a breathtaking invention, or innovation, by a certain man, the brilliant mind behind Trask Industries. It is... Shall we say, as DNA makes the mutant, so the Key makes the Sentinel. Technically speaking, it's called a source code, the basis for their sentience and personality. Without it, they're just common robots." She smiles at the trundling cake-seller. “Its value is indescribable, and without it Trask can no longer update or produce new Sentinels, not until he creates a new Key." Eloise rubs her palm with her thumb. "In that time, we can reverse-engineer its properties and apply it to our own technology... And you help delay vital intelligence on your battle tactics being distributed across the Sentinel network."

"And, of course, we tell you how you can find Victor." She smiles at you.

And now, the least important question. "Why me?"

"Mutants have always been of keen interest to my employers, and they have kept tabs on as many as they can. Our informants in the government have conveyed how much you are feared as a peerless killing machine. And you are now, as my employer put it, 'going ronin'." She wrinkles her nose with a conspiratorial smile. "An interesting way of putting it, I know. My employers have a keen interest in the history of warriors as well. Quite simply, you were the right man, in the right place, at the right time, and we had something we knew you would want,” she leans back. "Perfect business sense."

"Alright...so you want me to intercept this Key and bring it back. What kind of opposition am I looking at?"

"Oh, just the worst," she titters. "At least two of the Alpha Sentinels will be guarding the Key at all times, with full Sentinel retinue, as well as a host of human security. Trask has the Anvil Security Corporation on retainer, but that may be your ‘in’, in the parlance of spies and thieves and whatnot."

Two super-robots and a menagerie of regular murder bots. You are brimming with excitement.

She stands, brushing off her skirt. "But my employers assured me that for the information we promised, it would be no problem for you to deal with," Eloise opens the clasp of her purse, removing an orange holotape. "This has all the relevant details encoded onto it. When you place it inside a terminal, a prompt will ask for the passcode. The passcode is 'Caesar'."

 “Alright...” you look the woman over appreciatively. Given how much her ‘employers’ seemed to know about you, you wouldn’t be surprised if they deliberately sent such a stunner knowing you’d be more receptive. Probably they did. “Key’s as good as yours,” you declare, having made your decision. But you don’t fail to spare a scowl. “For the information. But if you’re lying to me or planning to double cross me, keep in mind that ‘peerless killing machine’ bit.”

Slipping the holotape into your pocket, you decide to take it to a public terminal and commit the contents to memory rather than risk bringing a potential trace back to base. Just in case.

Eloise smiles. "Once you have the Key, follow the instructions on the holotape, James. We're quite excited to be working with you." She turns and walks away, pumps clicking on the sidewalk.

With that out of the way, you head to the nearby public library and gain access to one of the terminals there. You found you weren't terribly good at using these things, but... Ah, there's the holotape deck. You slot the small storage device in, and the passcode prompt appears on the screen.

You type the code: “Caesar.”

Three command lines appear on the screen:

**[Operation Instructions]**

**[Anvil Infiltration]**

**[Delivery Procedures]**

The screen flickers, with new information cascading downwards.

***Expected Delivery ETA: 4 Days, 10 Hours, 27 Minutes, 55 Seconds.**

***Expected Delivery Location: SHIELD HEADQUARTERS- TRISKELION**

***Expected Delivery Route from Trask Industries High-Security Compound: US Highway 23 to State Route 4, South. Interstate 95, South.**

***Analysis: Optimal Location of Interception is along Route 4, before the convoy reaches the interstate.**

You back out and select the next option.

***Anvil Infiltration**

***Anvil Security Corporation, headed by William Russo, located in New York City. Trains and staffs ex-military forces, proud record of hiring only military veterans.**

***Noted legal battles with convicted felon Franklin Castle, aka the Punisher.**

***Financial impact of Punisher activities and legal recourses against the Punisher have led to lax security and assessment of members.**

***One member, Ivan Cole, is a known alcoholic with multiple misdemeanors on his record. Frequents a bar near the Trask facility called 'Delilah's'. Key target for replacement and infiltration operation of Anvil security detail.**

And last but not least...

***Delivery Procedures**

***When the Key has been obtained, bring it to Rubicon Incorporated HQ in Manhattan. The CEO would like to personally thank you for your contribution and present the data cache on Victor Creed.**

 “Right. Personally thank me,” You grunt. Withdrawing the holotape, you examine it thoughtfully for a moment before crushing it in your hands and letting the pieces scatter over the pavement.

 “Ready or not...here I come.”

**_ XxXxX _ **

You step out of the Albany Public Library, cracking your neck offhandedly. You had four days and a myriad of options to plan this little heist... Rubicon Incorporated had hired you to raid a convoy by Trask industries to bring some esoteric piece of technology to the Triskelion... And in exchange for this valuable trinket, they'd give you information on Victor.

Because of course the wild bastard had survived having half his brain being blown across the hood of that truck. Victor was nearly as tough and resilient as you were...nearly. Though as he would tell it, you were the one nearly as tough as him. Brothers were like that.

You could try making this op on your own. Rubicon had certainly afforded you that much information  to give it a go, but...

There was a certain wisdom in a man knowing his limits. You were no sage, but another difference between yourself and your brother was that you knew when to fight and when to back down. Most of the time. Going this alone was not your best option, not when you had what could generously be described as allies to provide support.

Magneto’s presence would make the mission a cakewalk, for sure. But convincing him to go out on a limb for you, for a personal mission no less, would be tough even with the promised benefits that you frankly were still suspicious of. You had no intention of even considering Cyclops as an option, if only out of respect for Havok’s wishes. Brothers had a right to protect each other.

So that left Caliban, Mystique, Arctic, and Angel. You could probably browbeat Caliban into coming along and with the energy pistol you’d obtained he could provide decent fire support. Mystique was invaluable for infiltration - maybe she could sneak into the convoy and retrieve the Key herself or sabotage some of the defenses between you and it. Angel had flight capability. Arctic was the only uncertainty; you knew his powers were within the realm of freezing things and manipulating temperature. But how effective it would be in battle - that you weren’t sure of.

And there was the overwhelmingly loud voice in your head that reminded you half of your potential support were children and children had no business on a mission like this. But another voice said ‘like it or not, they’re soldiers in a war now. So make due.’ You didn’t like that voice. It sounded suspiciously like a man whose name eluded you, but invoked fury and thunder nonetheless from the merest hint of remembrance.

You decide that first you’ll return to base and inform X Force’s commander of your mission and judge his willingness to supply one or two of his own as support. If you could sway him, the mission would become a whole lot easier.

It's a few hours trip back to the base, driving through the idyllic countryside of rural America. However, as you pass through the small town near the current X-Force HQ, it does make you a little nervous when you see a truck emblazoned with the Trask logo parked outside the town hall. Two sentinels were being unloaded and displayed to local police, along with crates of riot gear and military-grade ordinance.

The war was soon going to be arriving at their very doorstep.

Pulling up to the listening post, you find Havok and Cyclops already outside, practicing their sparring. Havok seemed to favor a bare-fisted boxing technique - rigid, plays by the rules, expects a fair fight. Cyclops was picking up the moves, but he seemed to be letting his guard either hang too low or raised too high, unable to counter effectively.

A sudden burst of nostalgia threatens to overwhelm you as you watch the brothers spar, familiar faces imposed over their own as you recall memories from so many lives lived. You wander over, trying to appear nonchalant. “You’re pretty good,” you compliment Havok. “Where’d you learn from?”

Havok drops his stance, backing away from his brother. "Rogue." He says simply, rolling his shoulders. "She preferred old-fashioned fisticuffs, unlike some. When she was the front-line commander, she drilled into all of us how to throw a punch."

"...Magneto has talked about her, sometimes,” Cyclops observes quietly. "Why did she leave?" He grabs a towel and wipes sweat from his forehead.

Havok shrugs a little. "You get tired of the life. Fighting their war, living with your head down, not getting to live at all. You just want...something more. Rogue, 'Crawler, Shadowcat, myself, we'd been fighting for years. When Magneto and Mystique split, she made Rogue and 'Crawler leave with her, though she didn't have to twist their arms much."

You make note of those names. “Mind showing me the ropes? I used to be pretty good, but it’s been...a while.” You give Cyclops a look, smirking knowingly. “Or maybe you’d like a turn? Wouldn’t have to pull yer punches. Might be I could teach you something.”

Havok glances at Cyclops with an amused look. "Go for it sport, show the old man what you've got." He steps back, hiding a grin behind his hand.

Cyclops glances between you and his brother for a moment before nodding slightly. His resentment and disgust at your presence had been curbed by how you had saved his brother...but he had to admit, he'd enjoy busting you in the nose. "Alright. I don't have to hold back?" He says to Havok.

"The man said you don't have to pull your punches, so get to it!" Havok replies with a sharp bark.

Cyclops shrugs and puts up his dukes, almost blocking his view of you. His right side is totally wide open and he's half-blind because of his own fist. Hell, his fist is way too close to his face to start with.

You decide to let him throw the first real punches. This is for his benefit, after all. You slowly lurch forward with a jab, telegraphing your movements. Cyclops dances back, filled with brash, youthful energy. Someday, you think, he might be a good fighter. He suddenly dashes in, closing the distance and following with an upper-cut aimed for your chin!

You let it connect. He needs to work out some of his frustration with you, after all. But this is also a chance to test him, so you shove him back with one arm, then throw a few punches at a decent rate to put him on the back step. Where appropriate, you try to disorient him and reconsider his focus of defense. He needs to be more aware of his sides in particular - the kid leaves them open when he swings.

Havok crouches down, watching the fight intensely. You can tell he has the eyes of a soldier, a veteran of combat. You had seen many battles in your time, but you had to admit, X-Force brought a higher class of violence to the table. Not too often you tussled with men throwing lightning and robots.

Cyclops backs up, frowning now. You see him eyeing your right side, your left, searching for a weakness... He hops off to your left, trying to put a jab in at your eye.

You catch his wrist. “Lesson one: don’t look where you’re going to strike before you do it. Keep your eyes center mass. Use your peripherals.” You release your grip and aim a jab at a nerve cluster near his shoulder. Not hard enough to do lasting damage, but noticeable enough to get his guard up.

"GAH!" He backs off quick, rubbing his hurt shoulder. "What the hell was _that_?!"

"Language." Havok says automatically, with the tone of a sibling who had long shared the role of parent. "He's right. Don't let your enemy know where you want to hit them. Don't take too long sizing up your opponent."

“Because while you’re sizing them up, they’ll be taking the initiative,” you follow Havok’s line of thought while closing the distance on Cyclops. “Fights are about who hits first and who hits best. You don’t have both...” You harass the boy further with some light swings and one jab to his ribs. You needed to get him worked up. “You lose.”

Cyclops grits his teeth. "Fine!" He winds up, aiming to strike you dead in the nose. "TAKE THIS!"

Havok sighs in disappointment.

You let him wail on you, taking a single step back for every strike he lands. In the part of your mind that barely feels the pain, the part that remembers greater torments than the haymakers of a frenzied youth, you begin to predict his next series of moves. When the time comes, you side step his next punch and kick his knees out from under him.

"Wah!" Cyclops falls flat on his back, slamming into the dusty road. Havok chuckles, wincing a little as he gets up and claps.

"You went easy on him." Havok accuses with a cheeky grin as Cyclops groans.

“We were all new to ass kicking at one point,” you shrug, pleased with yourself. “He’ll learn.” You look down at Cyclops. “Lesson two: your head controls your hits, not your heart. You lose control and you lose. It was too easy to get you riled up.”

Cyclops glares at the two of you and rolls over, pushing himself up. He slinks off towards the ladder to go lick his wounds. Havok inhales a little, shaking his head. "He'll be alright." He mutters to you. "Just had his pride stung a little bit, I..."

He looks at the car, a humorless grin fading. "I guess I've been away too long...Six or seven years now, barely seen him, left him with Erik and Charles. Both great men, but..." He shrugs. "Not like I could have taken him with me. He wouldn't leave anyways, not with..."

 “Someone else here he cares about,” you finish for him.

"....Yeah." Havok nods, walking to pick up the towel Cyclops left behind. "And we couldn't exactly bring her along. So Scott stayed,” he exhales, shaking his head. "And I was...ready to go. I wanted to go. I had my chance, Charles wasn't going to stop me. So I made him promise, _promise_ , that Scott wouldn't have the life I had. He had grown up with all these stories of X-Force fighting the good fight...but he never knew the blood we spilled or the things we did to win."

You were pretty sure Cyclops knew now. But that, to Havok’s eye, seemed to be the problem. “I, uh...have a brother too.” Damn, you weren’t good at this kind of talk. “We’ve been separated a while and I’ve got a lead on where he might be. But to get the intel I need...”

You sigh. “I need help stealing something from Trask Industries. Something guarded by a convoy. I was on my way to convince Magneto to lend me someone from his team. Think he’ll go for it?”

Havok blinks, a little surprised, "Well, your social credit around here is a little... _wobbly_ , I'd wager. I mean. You…" He shrugs, bobbing his head from side to side, as if dancing around the obvious topic. "But when push came to shove, you came through for X-Force. For me. And, he obviously has no love for Trask." He muses. "So...you might have a shot at convincing him."

He pauses. "But if he says no...ycan count on me." Havok extends a hand.

You find yourself quite touched by the gesture. After all you’d done, you hadn’t expected...gratitude. It was a strange but welcome taste. You shake his hand. “Thank you, Havok. Really.”

"You saved my life," he shrugs bashfully. "And...well, Charles knew the risks of what he was doing, he knew that one day this whole life would catch up with him, especially after what he and Magneto did to help the Morlocks. This has always been a war, and from what I've been told, you were just as much a victim as he was. They said you were like a beast, under the control of humans..." He shakes his head. "They could've done that to me. Or worse. So...we’re cool. We're good, James."

“Well, you’re gonna make this ‘old man’ shed a tear at this rate,” you joke to hide the fact you were dangerously close to feeling genuine camaraderie. “Lucky you have you watching my back.”

With that, you decide to venture forth into the belly of base to attempt to sway one of the most singularly intimidating men you’d ever met to do you a favor. Down in the base, you couldn't see Cyclops or Mystique... The boy must have gone down further into the depths of the facility, whereas the shapeshifter likely was on a supply run. Caliban was quietly fiddling with the water filter you had developed, humming to himself as he replaced Angel's feathers with fresh ones.

"Did you make this?" He asks, glancing over his shoulder and pointing at the filter system. "Quite ingenious, for what it is. Didn't take you for the engineering type."

"I liked building things when I was a kid. Worked in construction a while, learned engineering in the service in one of my tours,” you examine your work for any faults, a little self-conscious. "Everybody's got a hidden talent, I guess."

"Oh? I like to tinker with things too." He smiles a little, shy at the self-admission. "Being stuck inside all day, down in... Er... Well, I was in a lot of places where I had a lot of time and a lot of machinery to study." You winced inwardly...was there a mutant alive whose life hadn't been twisted horribly by their mutation?

"Yeah...well, he coughs, tapping a screwdriver in his palm and getting back to screwing in the filter. "Good work, this."

“Thanks. I was gonna give the radio tower a look before I...got a little off track. How ‘bout we tag-team it one of these nights?” Working in the dark wasn’t much of a problem for you - you didn’t have Victor’s perfect night vision but you definitely saw fine enough with minimal light.

"...That sounds brilliant," Caliban spares you a sincere smile. "Yeah, yeah sure, mate."

You smile back. It was good to know where you fit in.

“Well." He coughs, fiddling with the screwdriver. "Best be getting to it. I was up early this morning...afternoon...eh. Odd hours, y'know." He shrugs. "Cheers, mate!" He nods, heading off to complete another task.

Continuing the search, you find Magneto sitting with his back to you in the room where he first interrogated you, and your nose picks up the tinge of a familiar, metallic smell...but as Magneto notices you, he shifts his hands and the scent vanishes.

“New news,” you report, relaying first the details of your contracted assignment. “Those Alphas aren’t anything to sneeze at, ‘cept maybe for you. Getting this ‘Key’ out of Trask’s hands could help us stay on the offensive, ‘specially with them moving in on our territory. The less Alphas being made, the less counters they have to our heavy hitters. What do you think?”

Magneto's fingers make a drumbeat on the table, accentuated by his magnetic powers, you're sure. By the time he's done and ready to talk, four small divots are left behind on the table. "Bolivar Trask once asked me a question, a long time ago. I didn't think much of the man, but I sort of pitied him. In many ways, he was like us, but... less special. He used the fear of us, mutants, to fit in with those who normally shunned him for his appearance, unaware of his brilliance."

The mutant leader looks you in the eye, "He wanted to know why I didn't kill him, like I did the rest of the room he was in. He wanted to know what purpose, if any, I had to leave him alive. So I told him. I told him that, perhaps, I felt some small kindred feelings for him. Maybe a little bit of sympathy. Maybe it was Charles, speaking through me," His lips crook slightly. "His influence, at least."

Magneto frowns. "I think, more than anything, Trask hated my sympathy more than their...apathy, to his existence. I think, in this case, Charles was wrong. Because he used that brilliant mind to create the most powerful killing machines he could imagine, hellbent on one purpose....eradicating mutant life."

He nods slowly. "Take the Key. Bring Caliban with you, so he can study it before you give it to this... Rubicon Incorporated. Do what you have to do to win their trust. They know far too much about us, and I am quite inclined to turn the tables on that particular dynamic. I want you to find out not only what they know...but how they know it."

You nod. “Understood. I’ll do what I can.”

You mull a bit on your next words. “...y’know, I don’t think you were wrong to sympathize. Sympathy is what creates peace. Not hate. It was Trask’s own weakness for spitting it back at you.”

 ‘Sympathy creates peace. Not hate’ The words were coming from your mouth, but they were not your words. They belonged to...someone else. From another lifetime. A better life.

"..." Magneto pauses, shaking his head. "No...no,” he rises and dons his helmet, staring down at you with implacably cold eyes. "Violence creates peace, James. When the Third Reich fell, it was not to sympathy. When the Jews, Romani, Gays, and Lesbians were freed from the camps, they walked free because Nazis were butchered or ran away in terror for their lives."

"...But...sympathy does find you quite interesting allies," he concedes. "Do not disappoint me."

Words you’ve heard a million times before. Your reply, spoken a million times and then some: “I won’t.”

You search out Caliban and Havok. You needed to collaborate, form a plan...and then steal a key from the most advanced battle tech company in the world. You find Havok easily enough, the much younger man running cold water through his hair. The albino, however, was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he was in the deeper parts of the facility, working on some obscure piece of technology.

“Hey, Summers,” you greet politely. “Good news. Magneto agreed to the mission, so I’m off in a few. He’s sending Caliban with me. You feeling up for a trip?”

"Sounds good." Havok nods with a confident smile. "You'll get to see how a real X-Force soldier does it. I may have been out for a while, but I can still hold my own." He hesitates, acknowledging the obvious. "Usually, at least. Heh."

“We all have our off days,” you wink at him. “Come on. Let’s go find ourselves an albino.”

They search around the first level, but Caliban is nowhere to be found. When it becomes clear he must have gone down to the second level, Havok frowns and turns to you. "I'll go get him... You gather up what you need here, I'll be back in just a minute." He assures you, moving to the ladder.

“Uhh, alright. Don’t get lost.”

"Nah, I won't. Be back in just a minute." He says again, heading down the ladder.

You gather your things and wait, as requested. In only a few minutes, Havok returns with Caliban, who quickly gathers up some of his clothes and begins wrapping up any bare skin that may be showing. A hat hangs from his neck, as well as a thick pair of goggles. "It figures, doesn't it?" He mumbles. "Thrown back out to the wolves...the Morlocks won't have me..."

"I'm good to go." Havok nods to you. "Once gloomy Gus here gets all wrapped up, we can head out. What's our first move?"

“There’s a security guard I can replace to sneak into their outfit, frequents a bar. That’s step one. Then I’ll draw up a map of the convoy’s route: we’ll pick a spot to make a kill zone and hit them hard as we can before they can hit back. We grab the Key, Caliban checks it out, then we hand it off and go home.”

"Gotcha." Havok nods, walking to the ladder and beginning his climb with a roguish grin. "Just like the good old days."


	7. Road Warriors

Awaken the Wolverine

Chapter VII: Road Warriors

 

[Havok confidently got behind the wheel of the car, turning on its nuclear-powered engine and listening to the hum of the engine.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jyq8-fmmvq4) Freedom tasted sweet, and there was nothing quite so free and American as an automobile. That was the conceit, anyhow. Perhaps in some ways he felt a little more like he belonged, not as much of an outcast.

Caliban was less thrilled as he slid into the backseat. "D'you know how many traffic fatalities there are as simply collateral damage when one of these things gets into a fender bender? Hundreds. Literally hundreds. One little bump and suddenly you're part of a 1/16th scale Hiroshima reenactment."

You glance back at him. “Think that’s bad? I heard they’re putting some of these reactors into commercial planes now. Now that’s crazy.”

"Safest form of travel, they say." Havok cracks wise as Caliban turns an almost impossible shade paler.

You light up a cigar, a precious treasure you’d swiped from Gambit’s hide away. The familiar rush of carcinogens into your system always led to an endorphin response in your body; the familiar numbness that came with your healing factor working its magic. It was a little trick you’d discovered at...some point. “If we were meant to fly then we’d all be Angel.”

Havok backs up, angling the car in the right direction and then puts the pedal to the metal, dust and gravel flying up behind the car as it soars down the road. "Whatever you say, Baracus." He smirks.

You scoff. “Don’t be dropping A-Team references at me, squirt. I was there for the pilot airing.” You enjoy the hum of a well-made automobile: you were Canadian, but damn if a good engine didn’t make you want to salute the American flag.

"Huh, so that'd make you... thirties? At the least?" Havok responds, peeling out onto one of the main roads and heading back towards Albany and further on for a rendezvous with a very unfortunate mercenary.

You smile. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

"How delightfully cryptic." Caliban responds dryly, hunkering down in the back seat and pulling out an old issue of _"Fixin' Things"_ from under the backseat.

“Got any more of those back there?”

"I've got a copy of _'Future Weapons, Today'_." He replies, holding up a magazine. On the cover is a DNA link, with the headline asking if humanity was on the brink of unlocking the genetic code of all life and how it could be applied to military weapons.

“Good enough,” you reach a hand back to take the magazine and flip through it idly, cigar chomped in your teeth. You flip through a few pages, get bored, and promptly extinguish your cigar in the center of the magazine. You toss the smoldering paper out the window.

Caliban narrows his eyes behind his goggles at your rude treatment of the magazine. Not that you could really see behind his thick black goggles.

"Not a good read?" Havok asks, one hand trailing through the wind.

“Same shit, different century,” you reply grumpily. “So, Summers, how did you and your brother wind up with X-Force?”

Havok hesitates, glancing at you. "It's a long story," he replies, thinking about it. "My parents were...well-to-do. And really enjoyed adventure, so they took me, Scott, and our youngest brother on a helicopter trip.”

“The helicopter crashed,” he carried on without pausing. "Mom, dad, and Gabe all died in the crash, Scott and I survived. His powers went haywire, though."

He grips the wheel tighter. "Some... _people_...began to blame Scott for the crash. He'd have probably been taken away if Charles hadn't intervened and taken us to safety."

“Why would they blame...” you pause. Ah - now that you thought about it, the answer was obvious. “Well. That’s not on anyone, ‘least of all him. Sorry about your parents.”

You sit awkwardly for a moment, then grunt and look away. “What about you, Caliban?”

"Not much to say. I'd been living in Morlock City for a while, moved past the point where they needed me to lead it and such." He shrugs. "When Charles and Erik said they'd put their lives on the line to go find Plague, I tagged along."

“Wait, wait,” you eyeball Caliban from the rearview. “You led the Morlocks?”

"Hm? Yeah." He nods, flipping a page. "I helped at least. I was one of the first who lived down there. Underground and all, it suited me well. Did a couple of stints as the mayor or whatever. Callisto, Masque, and me would usually do rotating terms. Helped keep things fresh."

“Damn. Man of many talents. Ever think about going back, get yourself ‘elected’ again?”

"Uhhhhhh," he pauses. "No. Especially not after what happened at the Triskelion, Callisto wouldn't let me back in I'd wager, for what I helped you lot accomplish. No offense, Havok, but the Morlocks woulda been pretty okay with you being sliced and diced if it meant they got to go a little longer without the homo sapiens breathing down their necks."

"None taken," Havok shrugs. "If everyone was ready to fight in the war, we'd be in a much different position. Some just want to live in peace amongst mutants."

“Yeah, well. Wouldn’t call what we’ve got peace,” you mutter. “But I guess I see what you mean.”

"What's order for the spider is chaos for the fly." Caliban remarks.

"When X-Force went underground, it was after a long winding down of tensions between humans and mutants. We just didn't seem as necessary, though Charles and Erik couldn't come back into the public light, not after what they did,” Havok explains. "But for a little while, Mutants were not the big issue. The US was more focused on the commies, since China started their encroachment."

"Obviously, though, some elements of the U.S. government haven’t quite forgotten old grudges." Caliban grumbles.

“Tell me about that. Last war I remember was ‘Nam. States are at war with China now?”

Havok shifts a little. "After Vietnam and Afghanistan, the USSR began to experience an internal collapse due to famine. China, a massive breadbasket of Asia, used their food to win political power over the Warsaw Pact, industrialized, and then began expanding across the Pacific rapidly," he pauses. "Needless to say, that spooked the U.S. something fierce. Resources are scarce and everyone is scrabbling to stake their claim right now, which led to the U.S. annexing Canada for its oil and other national resources."

“They annexed Canada? Motherfuckers.” That stuck in your craw. “What about these nuclear reactors? Seem like they’d solve any energy crisis pretty easy. What do we need oil for at this point?”

"To sell to the people without nuclear reactors." Havok says with a strained voice.

Greed never changed. War never changed, either.

It's later in the day when you arrive at your destination, the town of Bolton. It was part of a small community of villages and townships to the east of a network of state parks and mountainous terrain where government secrets were said to be hid. Delilah's was located near the center of the town, and your target, Ivan Cole, lived on the edge of town.

"Where should we start?" Havok asked.

“We’ll hit Delilah’s first. Ambushing any privateer in his own house is a bad idea. Better to get him while he’s en-route. Case the place, find him, grab him when we get the chance.”

"Better you two do that without me. I'll draw the wrong sort of attention." Caliban remarks.

“Once we have him we’ll need somebody to babysit, make sure he doesn’t go nowhere. Was thinking you could do that. Sound good?”

"Sure, I enjoy whacking meat puppets with sticks to make them behave." He snarks. Havok takes the next left, heading to Delilah's. As you approach, it looks like any dive bar you had happened upon in a lifetime of wandering - dirty, covered in neon and old road signs, bikes and old cars out front. The usual crowd was likely already filtering in.

Havok turns off the car, glancing at you. "Alright. Let's make an impression." He opens the door and steps out.

[You take the lead, feeling a little more in your element.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8KciRaANKmo) A bar was a bar, after all. And you’d been to plenty over the decades. You walk tall and straight, and meet the eyes of anyone who sees fit to look your way.

Stepping into the low light, your senses are assaulted by the sounds, sights, and... _ugh_. The smells. Cheap whiskey, urine, stale sweat, and vomit were such a delightful cocktail of disgusting. Inside you find two bartenders, looking after five people at the bar. About another half-dozen are strewn about the place, working on ending their sobriety.

"I don't suppose they gave you a picture..." Havok mutters.

 “No. But I’ve got something better,” you tap the bridge of your nose lightly. “Mercs usually have a certain smell. Just gotta trace it.”

The smell, of course, was dried blood and gunpowder.

"Hm. Well, while you creepily sniff everyone like a pervert, I'm going to talk to the bartender." Havok walks past you. "Like the _hoomans_ do, and whatnot."

“Pfft. Now you sound like Magneto.”

"Ugh, don't compare him to me," Havok slicks back his blond hair and affects a winning smile as he approaches the female bartender. "I'm way cooler."

You conduct your own style of hunting, hitting up the pool tables first and then working your way to the side of the bar opposite of Havok, looking for your mark. Your nose picks up on the familiar tang of blood at the bar... A bald man with a nasty burn scar on one cheek, with a prosthetic hand. It wasn't a cheap model, suggesting he had earned his keep the hard way.

Bingo. You catch Havok's eye when you can, and order a drink. Now it was just time to wait.

Cole was certainly not shy about loading up on liquor. As you sit and drink your whiskey, barely feeling its effects, the merc loads up on double after double, noting he was going on another long tour to anyone who would listen. Seemed this was normal - the Anvil mercenaries working for Trask would do two week shifts up in the mountains at the facility. Seems like Trask was having the key shipped with a fresh, rested team of mercs for extra protection. However, for those two weeks on duty they had to be perfectly, painfully sober... Hard for a man with phantom pains in his hand.

You let him drink up. Before you take his place you decide you'll have to grill him a little on his mountain activities. Any intel you could bring back to Magneto would be useful. Maybe you could bribe him with a bottle of liquor or two, you imagine sardonically.

After a few hours, Cole is well and truly sloshed. He pays his tab and stumbles towards the front of the bar, fumbling with his keys and fully intending to drive his nuclear vehicle drunk. Perhaps he has a death wish.

You tap him politely on the shoulder.

"Hwwaa?" He turns to stare at you, soft doe eyes sharpening through the haze of alcohol. "You...?" He mumbles, something in his face makes you think he may have encountered you before...

You shrug it off for the moment, reaching out to place a comradely hand on his shoulder. "Sleep it off, bub."

You clock him - hard. When he's out you pull him to your shoulder as though you were carrying a drunken friend to his car. No one seems to notice or care that you just knocked Cole out. Havok quietly comes alongside you and opens the trunk of the car, whistling a jaunty tune as he does so.

You drop him in the trunk, then thoughtfully tuck a liquor bottle under his arm.

"Alright. We'll take him back to our spot, have Caliban sit on him. Then we can check out his place. See if we can't grill him a little while we're at it."

"Right." Havok nods, slamming the trunk shut and heading around to the driver seat. He absently taps on the window, waking Caliban up from a long nap.

"WH-" The albino mutant bolts upright, a screwdriver pointed at you menacingly.

You eyeball that screwdriver amusedly. "If we're gonna go that way, you'll need a bigger tool. Now come on. We've got a merc for you to sit on."

"Mmf." He tucks the screwdriver back into his sleeve. "Better have good lumbar support, sleeping in this car is killer on my back."

"Don't worry, sport, we've got a king-size bed just for you." Havok quips, turning on the car and driving off into the gathering night.

**_ XxXxX _ **

You and Havok drug Cole's unconscious ass through the dirt and gravel up to your modest little temporary headquarters, an old motel room whose owner was getting piss-drunk downstairs watching some late-night comedian host a crappy talkshow. You could hear the TV clearly through the floor, the same old tired jokes that carefully sidestepped national tragedies such as the Triskelion attack.

Caliban used zipties to secure Cole to the piping underneath the bathroom sink, stuffily muttering under his breath before climbing back out to face you and Havok. "Right, that's settled. If I could just relieve you of that laser pistol strapped to your hip, you two can be off to go burgle the poor sod's apartment."

You offer him the pistol by the grip, eying Cole curiously. He’d recognized you, somehow. You’d have some questions about that when you returned. But first you were going to rob him blind. Nobody said you were a saint. He should be grateful you didn’t just kill him outright like you were sure certain other mutants would be inclined to do.

“If he wakes up, remind him that he’s locked in here with a vampire and if he tries to leave you have our permission to eat him.”

"Oh yes, I'm the bloody Nosferatu of this horror film." He pauses. "No pun intended."

Caliban takes the pistol from you, and you join Havok in leaving the motel and heading down to the car. Havok pulls back onto the road, driving through the dark night to Cole's house. He doesn't have much to say on the way there, and they arrive at a remote and dilapidated house. Cole doesn't do a lot to keep it maintained. However, your keen senses pick up that this isn't exactly a character flaw – hidden in refuse are bear traps, tripwires strung between rusted car frames on the lawn. Havok was in fact was about to step on what appeared to be an improvised landmine.

You snap out a hand and jerk him roughly back, pointing with your other hand at the spot where the mutant nearly stepped on. “We’re going to have to take it slow, here. He’s booby trapped his place. And only one of us can handle being blown up, so I’m going to take point.”

"R-right." He steps back slowly, allowing you to take point.

Disabling most mines was actually fairly simple. When you found one it was better to rush it and hit the disarming point on the thing than to back off, at least in your case. You direct Havok to move back several paces in case you fuck up, then dash to the mine and attempt to disarm it.

 _Beep-Beep-BEEP bipbipbip!_ You successfully cross the gap in time, hitting the button to disarm the improvised mine. With your keen eyesight, you can see two others in the yard.  You scan the distance between the other two for any additional traps. As you step onto the porch, one trap does catch you by surprise - a loose board squeaks further down beneath your foot then you expected, and a box nearby pops open, blasting you in the shin with a healthy round of birdshot!

“Gnh!” You yelp, dropping to one knee. “On second thought...” you grit your teeth while your shin pulls itself back together. “How about you stand guard out here? Just in case.”

Havok had almost rushed across the yard to your aid, but hesitantly stays put. "A-are you sure?" He asks, watching as the gnarly wound knits itself back together.

“Yeah. I’ve got this, don’t worry. You stay safe.”

"R-right." He nods, glancing around warily.

You move onward - carefully!

Opening the door, you step into Cole's house, which is surprisingly spartan and much more well-kept. Despite being a drunk, he wasn't a fool. Looking around carefully, you see he has a large black duffel bag set out on the couch nearby, filled with clothes for his stint at the Trask facility... As well as another duffle that has official ANVIL combat armor tucked away inside.

“Jackpot...” you murmur. You make note of the bags and decide while you’re at it you may as well search for any weapons, cash, or other resources to add to your collection. Moving beyond the combined living room-kitchen, you enter his bedroom. There's a single bed in the corner, a bathroom to your left, and a closet to your right. Searching under the bed first, you find a nine-millimeter pistol duct-taped loosely to one of the wooden legs of the bed frame.

You move to the closet next. Opening it, you see multiple sets of casual wear hanging from a bar across the top of the closet... Inspecting closer, you see a wall safe embedded on the far wall, hidden behind the clothes. You slide the clothes back and examine the safe. It appears to require a combination and a key as well.

“Alright. Find the key, can do from there...” you search the bathroom next and make a point to check the toilet tank for any hidden items as well - for some reason people tended to pick that specific spot when hiding objects away in a bathroom.

You don't find anything in the toilet tank... There are a handful of meds behind the mirror. It seems Cole suffers from sort of chronic pain... He has a case of Med-X hypos amongst things like antacid and lesser painkillers... He also had an inhaler with two small containers of Addictol, likely to help counter the effects of the narcotics.

You pause, eying the meds. After moment of thought you take three hypos and the inhaler. One of the former and the latter could be good for “good cop” interrogation back at the motel. A few painkiller hypos would be useful down the line. And, truth be told, you didn’t take any more because you didn’t like the idea of robbing anyone of medicine they actually needed. Not more than you had to.

From what you can tell, the key to the safe isn't in the bathroom, and those were the only items of interest.

You check under the bed, the mattress, and examine the seams for any spots one might tuck a key away.

The key doesn't seem to be hidden in the bed.

“Mmmph.” You decide whatever is in the safe probably isn’t worth lollygagging any further. You head back downstairs and take your accumulated loot, stepping back outside to greet Havok cheerily. “Hey, Summers. Look what I found.”

Havok glances at the drugs quizzically. "Are we starting a drug mule operation?" He asks sardonically.

“Hah hah,” you reply dryly, particularly since you vaguely recall having some experience in such endeavors. “No. Guy’s got some kind of condition. Figure it might sweeten him to us if we give him some of the good stuff before asking questions.”

You had a certain sympathy for the chronically ill.

Havok shrugs, walking back to the car. You drive back to the motel, heading up to find Caliban heating up canned chili in the microwave. "Our guest is awake, I gave him some water." He says, scooping a finger into the can and licking it clean of chili.

You eye Caliban’s meal greedily, but show supreme mastery of yourself by not stealing it on the spot. Instead, you point at the bowl. “Get some of the sauce on your face. We’ve got a show to put on.”

"...." Caliban rolls his eyes, huffing with annoyance as he smears some of the chili on his face. "Y'know, the vampire jokes get old rather fast." He grumbles, tossing the can in the trash.

"How do we want to do this?" Havok asks, glancing towards the bathroom.

“Follow my lead. Caliban, you just stand there and look hungry. Havok, we’re doing a duo act. You’re the strong silent type. I’m the talker.”

“When I snap my fingers, make a little light show to show our guy who he’s dealing with. Don’t actually hurt him, though.”

"Strong silent type?" Havok asks jokingly. "Did we get our roles mixed up?" He follows along, though, as you head towards the bathroom. Caliban tries to look hungry but seems more constipated, or thinking about his taxes.

“Good evening, Cole,” you greet casually, leading the way as the three of you file into the bathroom. “Feeling a little hung over?”

"Hnnn..." He glances up at you hazily, and then his vision clears as ice cold fear trickles through. "Y-you. What the _fuck_... How the fuck are you here??"

Havok glances at you, raising an eyebrow. Cole scoots back in terror, visibly shaking, hyperventilating. " _What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, man..._ " He wheezes, trying to hide under the sink.

“Hey, relax. I haven’t even threatened you yet.” You retrieve his inhaler from your pocket, shaking it enticingly. “Want to make a trade? You answer some questions for me and you get to keep all your limbs. And you get this.”

Internally, you’re a little disappointed. You’d actually been looking forward to playing the ‘Caliban is a vampire’ angle. Ah, well. There was always next time. You’re also unsettled. This man knew you. He was more scared of you than the Pope was of God. You didn’t think you’d like to find out why.

"Why is he so scared of you? You met before?" Havok leans in and asks you.

“Guess so. Maybe while I was a robot for the people holding my leash.”

"Well, I think good cop and bad cop went out the window." Havok shrugs.

Cole whimpers on the floor, trying as best as he can to get the fuck out.

“Okay, bub. Okay. Relax.” You gesture for Havok to hand Cole the inhaler. You get the feeling he would just freak out more if you approached. “As long as you’re honest with me you don’t have anything to fear.”

Havok tosses the inhaler to Cole, but he just looks at it incredulously. It doesn't seem to be for asthma. "H-how did you find me...? What do you want from me that you haven't already taken?" Cole cries, throwing the Addictol at your face.

Okay, you’re starting to get extremely concerned. This wasn’t just “oh shit we’ve got a badass in here.” Cole had met you. And you’d met him right back, in the worst way. Probably under Stryker.

“The convoy, carrying Trask’s Key. The facility in the mountains. Tell me everything. If you don’t know something, say you don’t know. But if you lie...trust that I can smell it on you.”

"...." Cole glances between you and Havok, his face uncomprehending. "Wh-what do you mean, tell you everything? Tr-Trask has a facility in the mountains where he keeps all of his company's dirty secrets and patented technology... All I know is that one high-profile item is being moved in a few days, after my shift starts!"

He didn't seem to be lying, but terror made him less than useful. “Alright. That’s good, then. Now I’m going to ask you a question: it’s going to sound weird as hell. How do you know me?”

Cole stares at you, disbelieving.

“It’s not a trick. I’m being dead serious.”

"...You... You don't remember?" Cole asks incredulously. " _YOU DON'T FUCKING REMEMBER WHAT YOU DID TO ME?!"_ He holds up his prosthetic hand.

You exhale softly. This was going to be…delicate. “Cole. I want you to listen very carefully. I got fucked up in the head - bad - by some of the people who run this world. I don’t remember you because they made me like one of them Sentinels: a robot. Go here, do this, beep fucking boop. I don’t know how we met, but I’m not here to hurt you. And whatever happened...” you look at his prosthetic. “I’m sorry. Really.”

Cole is weeping despite himself, losing composure at the unfairness of it all. "Y-you were brought to the facility a while back... A long while back, while they were working on the Alpha Sentinel project... You didn't speak, you barely blinked.... But when they stuck wires into your head, studied you... You fucking snapped...and those claws...those claws popped out."

"And there wasn't a fucking man alive who could stop you." His eyes stare at you, past you, through you as he relives the terror. "You cut through a platoon of men in minutes...the lucky ones died quickly. Your handler finally showed up and put you down with only a couple words. And he looked at us like _we_ were the fuckups who let you go nuts."

"...Jesus." Havok mutters under his breath, glancing at you.

“...” You sigh. “I’m going to untie you now. Don’t flinch, okay?”

He shrinks back as you get closer, closing his eyes tightly. True to your word, you loosen his restraints and pull them off. “Look...Cole. I’m here because that mission you’re about to go on? I’m the guy who’s gonna stop it. I need what that convoy is carrying so I can hurt the fuckers who stole my mind. The guys who lost you your hand,” you gesture at his prosthetic. “So you’ve got a choice. You can stay here with my friend here,” you gesture at Caliban. “And sit pretty. You do that and when we come back you’re free to go. Or…”

“You can come with us,” you gesture to yourself and Havok. “And get some revenge on the men pulling the strings.” You offer your hand. “What do you say?”

The entire room takes a moment to get used to that one-eighty-degree spin on the previous dynamic. Caliban's spoonful of chili is frozen halfway to his mouth as he stares at you like you lost your marbles. Havok is glancing between you and Cole. And Cole...looks angry, frightened, and confused.

"...I help you this once," he croaks, taking your hand. "And then you leave me alone, forever. I never see you again."

“Fair enough.” You nod grimly.

“Let’s get to work.”

**_ XxXxX _ **

[After three days of tense undercover work with Cole,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5SDskQp2tJg) you were finally getting out of the underground Trask facility buried deep within the mountains... The things you had seen... Prototype Sentinels, literally explosive experiments, weapons tests with plasma cannons and laser gatling platforms... Trask was gearing up for war. It had been tough covering for your inclusion on the ANVIL team, as they were not expecting a replacement for another merc Cole helped you take out, but you had successfully bluffed your way through.

And now, finally, you were on your way out. Riding in the back of an armored car with Cole and four other ANVIL personnel, all surrounding a lockbox containing the Key. Two other APCs flanked yours, each with another 6 ANVIL mercs as well as the two Alpha Sentinels waiting inside. As you drew inexorably closer to the point of no return, your old battlefield nerves began to crawl up your spine.

You tap your ring finger against your knee, a familiar habit you’d started back in the Great War. Playing out the rhythms to a song only you can hear. You glance at Cole, trying to seem reassuring. In all sincerity you hoped the guy made it through this okay. You owed him that much, at least.

Cole was nervously clenching and unclenching his prosthetic hand, thankful that his combat gear hid his face. His erstwhile comrades wouldn't see his pain as he betrayed them for some sort of cathartic mission against the elites.

You shift slightly in your own gear, thankful for the protection. Sure, you could heal from most anything, but that didn’t mean you didn’t prefer a broken rib to a hole through your chest from heavy fire. There was sure to be plenty regardless.

Subtly, you signal to Cole which two men he’s tasked with taking out. The other two are yours.

Cole nods slowly, gripping his silenced 10mm submachine gun tightly to his chest. The minutes pass slowly, you hear from the driver they were nearing the interstate, and you think to yourself that the ambush should be soon-

**_ BOOM. _ **

The APC comes to a screeching halt, knocking you against your "comrades" to your right. One of them is sent sprawling to the floor and Cole automatically pulls up his submachine gun, yelling angrily as he unloads into the face of one of his targets across from him.

You draw your laser pistol and immediately fire at your own targets with controlled two-shot bursts.

"GAAH!" One immolates entirely, his body turning bright white before being reduced to a pile of ash. The other screams in agony, his clothing catching on fire from the laser bolt, but not quite dead yet. Cole gets up and drops onto the merc on the floor, bashing him in the head with the butt of his gun before drawing a magnum revolver, pressing it against the man's neck, and pulling the trigger.

Outside, you can hear yelling and a loud roaring noise, like a wildfire rushing past the APC intermittently. Havok must have engaged his targets. You quickly cap the flaming man once in the head, putting him out of his misery. You look to Cole. “Alright, your choice, bub. It’s gonna be hell out there. You can stay here and play dead or jump in. Up to you.”

You jump out of the APC, finding a warzone outside - the lead APC had been knocked over onto its side, the engine block and front wheels twisted and blasted off. Crimson beams of energy shot through the air, cutting through twisting ribbons of smoke, but the most horrifying thing was the burning mercs walking away from the felled APC... As the vehicle itself melted around the walking supernova that rose out of the wreckage like an angry god. This Alpha Sentinel did _not_ give a fuck whether or not its merc allies were caught in its crossfire, some of them crawling from the inferno while screaming in agony, burning alive. The fiery Alpha steps out of the wreckage with a fearsome war cry, pointing a hand at the woods where Havok was hiding and unleashing a bolt of fire that felled one of the trees, splintered wood flying past you from the blast.

Behind you, a tearing noise grabbed your attention as the other Alpha Sentinel stepped out of its APC, flanked by the six mercs in that vehicle. It had ripped the back doors off of the APC and held them up in a pointed arrow, an angle meant to send energy and fire blasts flying off and away. As you watched, armored bands of segmented metal wrapped around the sentinel, giving it an almost muscular appearance.

"All of you, form up behind me as we advance. Reinforcement sentinels are ten minutes out." The armored Alpha says, slamming the two doors together and holding his defensive formation, slowly leading his squad of mercs towards the firefight between Havok and the fiery Alpha.

You head for the muscular colossi of a Sentinel, acting for all the world like another mercenary survivor taking refuge behind its bulk.

“Yes, that is right. Take shelter, lest my brother consume you in his incandescent wrath." The Alpha says encouragingly, moving up slowly while the other mercs popped their heads around to pop off shots towards Havok. The Fiery Alpha was relentless, cutting through swathes of trees with barely any effort. Havok was on the move, but he was quickly being forced back.

You open up on the mercs with a rapid barrage of laser fire! One screamed in agony as your sneak attack turned him to ash from the inside out, and another fell as you were wounded. One shot errantly strikes the armored Alpha and ricochets into a third merc, but the others are able to respond faster than you expected.

"Hmmm?" The sentinel turns slowly, confused by the sudden attack from behind. One of the mercs smacks you across the helmet with his gun, while another opens fire into your chest. Even with the body armor, that hurt like hell.

Meanwhile the Pyro Alpha has forced Havok out into the open, the two trading fire as the human desperately avoids being hit with superheated plasma. The Pyro seems largely unaffected by Havok's strikes, the superheated air around it diffusing the force of each blast.

The armored Alpha turns ponderously towards you, its golden eyes staring down at you ominously. "Friendly fire? No, you are the replacement. A spy?" He huffs. "Remove his helmet." The Alpha instructs the other three mercs, who close in and try to rip your helmet off. Out of options, you position your flailing arms and pop your claws into the skulls of the first two mercs to get too close to you.

"Ohhh," The Armored Alpha stepped forward, nodding. "I see...step back." He says, giving the last merc a second to duck before he swings a door with such speed your enhanced senses can barely track the movement. The armored door smashes into your body, sending you flying off of the road and smashing into the underbrush.

"If my analysis is correct, you likely will recover from that." He remarks confidently, throwing the other door like a frisbee at you. You barely manage to roll far enough that the door doesn't slice you in half, embedding itself in the ground. Your body screams in agony, but is already mending the damage. You take time to let yourself recover some, then growl and charge forward! But when you get within range, you do not attack but instead try to dodge around the Armored Alpha’s attacks to get around him. Then make a run for the Pyro.

"No," The Colossi’s hand shoots out, grabbing you by the throat. "Come here." He murmurs, holding you aloft with one powerful hand while the other pulls your helmet off. "Yes...as my analysis predicted. The Wolverine. The one who destroyed our brother at the Triskelion, the one made to emulate you."

"It made me sad to hear it was destroyed, but then I remembered it was probably happy to fight you." He pauses when you ram your claws into his forearm, and then throws you at the APC he came out of, sending you through the windshield.

“Grrgh!” You snarl, the old predator beginning to waken in you. You shake off the beginnings of your berserker rage, knowing that here and now you could not afford to lose control. “Okay, bub. Let’s change the game.”

You try to rapidly search the APC for any heavy weaponry or explosives and find a grenade launcher wedged between the passenger seat and the wall behind it! It has one grenade in the slot, with two on a clip along the barrel. Taking aim, you fire one shot off at the Pyro!

The shot explodes a tad prematurely as it hits the Pyro's heat shield, but this knocks it off center enough that Havok's next blast sends it sprawling on its back, its heat making the asphalt melt and bubble.

You clamber into the driver’s seat and rev the engine to carry you right at the Pyro. The tires screech as you floor it, the APC zooming forward towards the Pyro. The Armored Alpha makes a puzzled noise, leaping to try and grab the vehicle and snagging the passenger door, hanging on and trying to pull it open as the APC slams into the Pyro, who is trying to extricate itself from gooey melted asphalt.

“HAVOK! NOW!” You scream, jumping out of the APC as far as your legs can carry you and running like hell.

The Armored Alpha glances at the woods, trying to discern Havok's next move, only to watch the warrior of ruby light ascend from the treetops, his hands providing the thrust to make him airborne while a cascading vortex of energy swirls at the center of his chest... And a beam shoots out, hitting the APC's engine block, and sparking off a nuclear explosion that lifts you off of your feet and sends you flying ten yards through the air to land heavily on the road. Chunks of flaming metal land around you as you feel the first trickles of oxygen return to your flattened lungs. Coughing and sputtering, you roll onto your back to see the plume of fire separating you from the APC that Cole is in....

And inside that inferno, beneath the belching plumes of black smoke, you see a figure rise...and turn towards you. The Armored Alpha Sentinel walks out of the blaze, its bright and shimmering armor now blackened and twisted...its orange eyes two cauldrons of tranquil fury. In its hands is the head of the Pyro Sentinel, half-melted from the sheer power of the nuclear explosion.

["Prepare yourself, mutant," the Sentinel says quietly, casting aside its comrade's head.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOr0na6mKJQ) "Now there is nothing left to hold me back."

The Armored Alpha Sentinel steps out of the blazing inferno from the APC's explosion. It stood between you and the APC where you had left Cole and the Key, but thankfully it seemed solely fixated on you. On what you had just done. Metal clanged loudly as the head of the Pyro Alpha bounced off of the road and rolled into the grass, discarded by its brother. Most of the ANVIL mercenaries were dead, many had died gruesomely in literal friendly fire.

"Our maker spent much time meticulously crafting each of us to be unique. He believed that our identity is what made us...special. He also said something of our inspiration went into each of us. I try to imagine what he meant by that, because I never met the mutant I was based on." The Armored Sentinel stops, staring down at you. "Having met you, I can say one thing for certain. My brother, who you killed at the Triskelion...was a better Man than a _mutant_ like you could ever hope to be."

It clenched a fist, raising it to point at you. "Now come, Wolverine. Fight me with all your strength, so that when I burn your flesh in this fire, you can die knowing you never had any hope of winning."

You don’t waste time with words - taking aim with your grenade launcher, you fire off the second of your three rounds. You don’t aim for his most heavily armored chest, but instead for the legs, hoping to cripple his speed before getting anywhere near that lightning bruiser.

The Armored Sentinel launches off the ground, evading the attack with its quick reaction time. The grenade explodes beneath it, and as the Alpha arcs towards you, a crimson beam smashes into it from behind, sending it crashing back down to the ground. Havok emerges from the underbrush, his clothing ripped from shrapnel, with several nasty cuts on his face and arms... one piece of shrapnel, long and thin, had pierced his shoulder. But his other arm was still usable, outstretched and still glowing from his powerful blast.

You hastily reload the launcher as you rush for the fallen Sentinel, slinging it over your shoulder with its strap and extending your claws. Thickened and harder from your hours of smashing them against the X-Force bunker walls, you were counting on them being at least halfway effective against this Alpha. You leap, intending to clamber atop its back and drive your claws into the place where a human’s spine would meet the neck.

"What is this?" The Sentinel asks as your claws penetrate its armor, though they get almost stuck as the machine turns its head slightly toward you. "Do you think that because my maker designed me to look human, that I have all of their glaring flaws?" It reaches a hand back, grabbing you by the face and throwing you down into the pavement. You're sure you felt several ribs break as you smash into the ground, blood tangy on your tongue. Havok might have shouted something, but you could barely hear through the ringing in your ears.

You spit out a mouthful of several broken teeth, gagging on blood. Wearily, you try to stand and draw your laser pistol and fire on the Alpha, squeezing the trigger as fast as you can manage. Each bolt bounces off of the Alpha's armor, and as it raises its foot to crush your head, another beam from Havok knocks it off balance, staggering away from you. Your comrade rushes over and grabs you by the ankle, dragging you away hurriedly. "This fight is not going our way, James. What's the plan?"

You drag the launcher back into your hands, claws sliding into your forearms. “We need to get to the APC where the Key is. Just drive on out of here and meet with Caliba-“ you pause as new teeth fill your mouth. It’s a discomforting sensation. “Caliban.”

“He’ll probably try to chase us. That’s what you and this,” you twitch the arm holding the launcher. “Are for. Keep him back long enough to get some distance.”

"Right. We just need to get around him." Havok says nervously, charging up a blast as the sentinel regains its footing. The two standoff with the machine, glaring at each other as the tension ratchets up, each waiting for the other to move.

"HEY!" Cole appears behind the sentinel, holding the lockbox with the Key in it. "This is what they're after, right? So let's just take it and go!” He shouts.

The sentinel turns to stare at him. "Why would you _show_ it to them, get back into your personnel carrier and contact our reinforcements-"

You fire your launcher at its exposed back. Havok unleashes a blast as powerfully as he can, roaring in fury.

The Sentinel falls forward onto one knee, and Cole falls backwards with a small squeak, clutching the lockbox... And as the human scoots away from the machine, he sees several bands of armor fall away from the Sentinel's chest. "YOUR ARMOR! YOUR ARMOR IS DAMAGED!" He says, loudly projecting his voice to you and Havok.

"Be quiet." The Sentinel hisses, turning back around - you do indeed see a gap in its armor, a chink in its defenses.

“Havok. Wait for the moment.” You mumble quietly.

Havok nods, panting heavily.

Stepping forward, you toss the grenade launcher aside and unsheathe your claws. “Hey, tin man. I’ve got a question for you.”

"......" The Sentinel doesn't respond, taking a step towards you menacingly.

You grin. “Oh, but it’s a good question.” You settle into a fighting stance. “Those Alphas I killed. Did Trask design you all to be such weak little pussies, or were they the only worthless scrapheaps? You’re right. The one they made to copy me was happy. Right until he started losing. Then he begged like the little runt he was.”

"You are trying to make me angry." The Sentinel responded, its voice colder than ice. "To provoke a violent, _human_ reaction to your childish taunting." It pauses, and then launches forward, its foot moving so fast you're barely able to track it. You dodge in just the nick of time, knowing that blow would have torn you straight in half.

 _"I'm afraid it's quite a successful tactic."_ The Alpha snarls, snapping its hand back and flattening you to the ground. Its tilts on its axis, catching Alex by the wrist and holding him in the air as a blast of crimson energy shoots off harmlessly.

"AAAAAAAA!" Havok screams as the grip tightens on his wrist...until the bones shatter in its grip.

"When will you realize I was born to kill things like you?" The Sentinel asks, staring down at you.

“When...will you realize...a distraction when you see one?”

"Wha-" Its next words are cut off as the APC smashes into it from behind! It drops Alex to the ground as it is launched forward, only to be run over by the APC, which screeches to a halt a few yards away. The Sentinel rises, growling in frustration, but see Havok standing over you, his eyes glowing red.

"You were born with a singular purpose? You were created, by a man with an imagination so limited he could only copy what he saw. We are born with a choice to become what we want to be." Havok grits his teeth, arms hanging uselessly. "People like the man who created you just want to take our choice away, and we will _ALWAYS FIGHT BACK!"_ He releases a constant stream of energy from his chest, slamming into the Sentinel and putting it on the backfoot. It tries to hold off the crimson beam with one arm, the metal groaning under the strain.

Hurtling forward, you scream with all the animalistic fury you had been holding back for the entire fight - all of it saved for this one beautiful moment. The moment when you leaped forward, arms pointed straight as javelin, to torpedo yourself right into the weakness in the robot’s armor.

"YOU LITTLE INSECTS," The Sentinel screams as you slam into its torso, claws going to work widening the hole in its chest armor. "GET OFF ME!"

It struggles to rip you off its chest with one hand while the other repels the continuing beam emanating from Alex. Howling like the animal you were accused of being, you let the world turn red and bloody as you stab, rip, and tear into anything and everything that you can of the Alpha.

You plunge your claws into its chest wound, into its shoulders, into its visual receivers. Because you had a brother, too. And you would not lose him like this creature had lost his own.

"N-NO!" It drops to one knee, one hand clutching your chest and trying to crush the life out of you as your claws tear through circuitry and wiring.

You find its glowing heart, a CPU core that held everything that made this Sentinel what it was. You reach in with both hands, and use all your strength to pull. Sparks fly as the threads connecting mind, body, and soul of the machine begin to snap and tear... And you find yourself falling backwards as it comes loose, torn out of the Sentinel's chest. Its humanoid chassis falters, stumbles... And falls over, lifeless. Its right hand had been reduced to the barest skeletal structure, thin needle-like strips of metal in the twisted approximation of a limb.

Alex exhales deeply, laughs, and then falls forward, unconscious. You are sorely tempted to join him in sleep as you hit the pavement, coughing and sucking in hoarse breathes while your body returns to its normal state of being. You stare at the CPU in both your hands for a moment, transfixed by its luminous glow...then you tuck it under your arm and rise, stumbling over to the fallen Alex.

“Cole! Get your ass over here!”

The merc hops out of the APC and jogs over, still pale-faced and glancing over his shoulder at the eviscerated Sentinel.

“Here, take this and put it with the Key,” you toss the CPU to him. Then you gently pick up Havok and stumble toward the APC

"R-right." He catches the glowing ball and carries it over to the vehicle. Havok is surprisingly light, and you're able to detect a fluttering heartbeat. He's exhausted and likely would be out of the fight for a month, but he was alive. They had survived.

There will be time for celebration later. For now...you’re ready to rest. You slip out one of the syringes you’d nicked from Cole’s home and slide it into Havok’s arm. Then you go to work binding and treating his wounds with what little skill you have.

“Get us out of here,” you direct the mercenary. “And Cole? Thanks.”

He stares back at you for a moment before shrugging and throwing the APC into gear. He drives past the fiery wreckage with an impassive look before finally responding. "Just remember our deal. When this is over, I never see you again. I figure I've got to go on the move anyhow since Trask will likely figure out someone double-crossed him, but I don't help you out with anything else, ever again."

You nod. “Fair enough,” you echo your previous words.

He drives you over to where Caliban is waiting, the masked and hooded albino gasping in shock when he sees the condition you and Havok are in. Quietly, he is quite glad he wasn't in the fighting. "This is where we part ways. Goodbye, Wolverine." Cole strips off his combat armor and tucks a pistol into his waistband. He picks up backpack with some survival gear and walks off towards the woods bordering the road. "Good luck with your war."

Caliban pulls Havok into the backseat, covering him with a blanket so as not to attract too much attention. "Where are we going now?" He asks, closing the door.

“Rubicon Incorporated. In Manhattan. But before we get all the way there, I’ll need you to take a look at the Key,” you glance at the lockbox, then the Alpha’s CPU. “And that. Study it for weaknesses if you can find any. It’s time we changed the game of this war.”

"R-right, gotcha." He pulls out some tools and sits down in the passenger seat with the lockbox in his lap, working on picking the lock while the CPU hums gently under his legs.

You get into the car, bringing the engine to roaring life, and set of south towards the city.


	8. Days of Future Past

Awaken the Wolverine

Chapter VIII: Days of Future Past

 

It's a few hours drive to arrive at your destination, and New York City is certainly much different than when you were last there. The presence of Sentinels had tripled, vertibirds and ornicopters soared through the sky, and military checkpoints were set up across the city - they were well armored, usually consisting of a troop carrier with a small 44 mm cannon mounted on the top, each with several power armor-clad soldiers armed with miniguns watching the crowds. Uniformed soldiers would drag people over to be thoroughly scrutinized and interrogated for any possible trace of mutation or mutant apologism.

The three of you kept your heads down - Havok had woken up and Caliban had finished his investigations, handing the Key and the CPU back to you after you had hidden the car in an out of the way parking lot in upper Manhattan. It was a bit of a walk down to the more densely-packed southern tip of the island, but it was safer. There were less Sentinels in the north.

Arriving at Rubicon Incorporated with your cargo, you find Eloise waiting for you in the lobby, giving you that same self-assured smirk as she had when you met her in Albany. "Good afternoon, James. I'm glad to see everything seems to have gone well."

“Yeah, you’ve got a funny definition of ‘well’,” you scowl. “But you’re close enough. I brought you a bonus package.”

"Excellent," she chirps, motioning two security guards over to take the packages. "If you'll follow me, I'll take you up to meet our CEO. He's very excited to have this opportunity." She turns on her heel and glides over to the elevators, one of which opens automatically as she approaches.

You trail behind her, eyes occasionally trailing to examine her behind.

She glances back at you coquettishly as you both step into the elevator. She hits the button for the highest floor and steps back beside you, quietly waiting as the elevator ascends through the tower. In under a minute, it dings, the sudden deceleration messing with your equilibrium a little. She leads you down a long hallway, one side a long floor to ceiling window showing off the city skyline, before opening a door and ushering you in.

The room was like a conference room - there was a large wooden table stretching along its length, but it had some oddly homey touches about it. Art on the walls was fairly standard, but a suit of Roman legionnaire armor on a mannequin guarded one side of the room, and at the very opposite end was another table placed against the window, with a host of over a dozen framed photos on it.

On the table was a box of cigars, a gold-plated lighter, a decanter of whiskey, and two glasses. No one else was in the room yet, though. "He must still be busy in another meeting. Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Rubicon will be here shortly." Eloise excuses herself, closing the door and leaving you alone in the room.

Left to your own devices, you choose to observe your surroundings. Firstly you wander over to the collection of photos, picking them up and examining them. They're of various children, each having similar features and dark hair, though some break the mold occasionally with blond mops or the rare ginger. Maybe the CEO's grandchildren? Though there seemed to be quite a few of them...

Your gaze lingers on one picture, not a photo at all but a small, brilliantly painted portrait of a woman...

Your eyes widen as you pick up the frame, staring at the painting in stunned silence. You hear the door open behind you quietly, footsteps approaching, but you can't look away. The hair, the sad, knowing smile...

[It was your mother.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_4LfQUQFPfc)

"She always was beautiful," a voice says, lacking the Mediterranean accent you had once been so familiar with, now carrying a bit of a southern twang. "But it was...beyond the surface. She was more than a pretty face. Whip-smart, fiercely independent. She was the first in a long line of my children who actually made me proud. I'm glad to see you're carrying on the best parts of her."

“...grandpa?” You turn, words at a whisper. In an instant you’ve become a little boy again - the boy who had once been visited by an old man smelling of sweat, time, and...

Family. “You. This place is your company?”

"Hello, Jimmy." His eyes twinkled in a familiar way as he greeted you, hands tucked into his pockets. "Yes. This is my company, though it's being run officially by my latest son in law, your half-sister's husband. Nice guy... Little dim. It works for me. Not a good idea to be in the spotlight for too long."

He walks over and pours himself a glass of whiskey. He had kept his beard, but trimmed it down to a more respectable length, and his hair was balding more... But he looked like he had only aged a few days in the decades since you had last seen him. "Whiskey?" He asks.

“Y-yeah. Sure,” the world around you is spinning on and on, and standing right there in the center of all that chaos is...your grandfather. Barely aged a day - where you had changed so much.

You accept the glass of whiskey and immediately chug it down, grateful for the burn. “I’ve got a sister. And...” you glance at the photos meaningfully. “Them, too?”

"Mmmmmmhm," He pours you a glass of whiskey too, picking both up and bringing one over to you. You can tell by his tone he's...less than impressed. "As things go, they're alright, but they don't quite have the same knack that you and Victor had. There's a few that are fairly promising, I have high hopes for them." He takes a sip of whiskey. "Which is one of the reasons I wanted for you to come here and meet me."

“One of them,” You echo. “What would the others be?”

Your grandfather chuckles a little, sitting down at the table. "Jimmy, I'm old. Incredibly old. I've been around since before there was a Rome. Hell, I helped found Rome back in the day, they even gave me some cockamamy name at that time and there were idiotic legends-" He waves a hand distractedly. "Not the point."

"The point is, I've seen a lot of human history develop and grow... And as their world grew, mine... Shrank. I tried my best to fit in, play the civilized games they liked to play, I got pretty good at it too, but..." your grandfather sighs. "It just never really clicked. I always felt like the outsider, and for some of my kids...it was worse."

"Some of them, like Victor, just couldn't cope. The beast inside them raged too strong for them to live in a civilized world. They went insane, they ran off into the wilderness, they were called demons and monsters. Some were butchered like animals, not much I could do to help them."

He takes another sip of whiskey, a long sip. "I eventually got tired of it all...trying to protect my kids, trying to make a positive impact. It all became meaningless after seeing empires rise and fall, children grow old and turn to dust. A few seemed to have the knack, but...they turned grey and died too, eventually. The last time I gave a shit about any of this was when that blue _cunt_ En Sabah Nur poked his head out of the sand."

He winks at you. "Grandpa made quick work of him."

"When Elizabeth was born...your mother, that is..." he glances at you. "I wasn't prepared to really care. I'd settled down, started a mercantile company to fund my travels across the world, trying to reach someplace relatively untouched by humanity, if only for a little while... America seemed like the place to be. Lots of wilderness. But Elizabeth...she had the knack, and she knew it. She figured so much out so _fast_ , I couldn't believe it. Your momma was so smart, she ran circles around me.

He laughs, taking another sip. "I loved her so, _so_ much. She was the first light, the first joy in so long. I wasn't sure how long I'd have her around, so I took her traveling with me."

"One thing led to another, she grew up, instinct started to take hold. She found a rough customer who could... Uh..." your grandfather clears his throat, looking embarrassed. "Keep pace, if you catch my drift. Victor came along, it was clear from day one that he had the knack."

"....Victor's father passed away, though. Disease. The first time your mother truly had to endure loss. She wasn't sure what to do, but she refused to let other women take care of Victor and she didn't want to take him on our adventures. She found another man, your poppa, and convinced him to take her and Victor far, far out into the Canadian wilderness..."

Your grandfather squints, lost in memory. "...I was so blinded by time, I didn't realize why she did it. It seemed foolish to me, but...she knew better than I did. She saw the truth. The truth I was only beginning to grapple with, trapped in my damnable, self-absorbed ennui." He shakes his head. "The truth was that the world was getting so much smaller... Our world... And their world was getting bigger and bigger, but there was no place for Victor there... Or for you. You were beasts, and she intended to raise you some place where you could be true to your nature."

He pauses for a long, long while, just...staring. "After she died, I don't know...how many bottles of whiskey I drank. How many men I killed. I just... _stopped_ , for a long, long time. I wasn't there to take care of you or your brother. To this day, I know she would be ashamed of me for that. For not doing right by you boys, for letting my grief get the better of me." He swallows hard, eyes sparkling. "I let her down. My Elizabeth."

"It wasn't until World War 2 that I was snapped out of my funk. I was some homeless bum living down in Brooklyn." He takes another long sip of whiskey. "Eating rats and other vermin. But... I saw a newspaper one day, and it woke me up. It said Japan had surrendered... That after two atom bombs, they'd had enough. Nuclear power was the advent of a new era, they said." His brow furrows contemplatively. "And it was then... I realized what I had to do."

"Our family had been plagued for centuries by a curse... Our bestial nature, trapped against a wall as man encroached with fire and spears to hunt us down like animals." He clenches his fists. "Our world was going to vanish, given enough time, but as the Russians and the Americans rushed to arm themselves with nuke after nuke after nuke... I realized their foolhardy recklessness was our boon... Because in a world destroyed by nuclear fire, only we would remain..."

He turns to look at you, his eyes devoid of any emotion save for cold ruthlessness. "I scoured the Earth looking for all of your brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, nephews, and nieces. Every one of us with the knack, who could survive the war to come. I'm still looking for them. I intend to do for all of them what I never did for you boys, to make up to Elizabeth my mistakes. I'm going to bring you all together. A Brotherhood of Mutants."

Your grandfather smiles. ["And then I'm going to give you a new world."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U68sWpW8MAI)

" _Our_ world."

“You’re going to...let World War III happen,” you breathe, dizzy and spinning inside as the environment around remained solid and set. “You’ve been pushing it to the brink. So the world will be burned clean.”

"Indeed. After all these years I've grown quite accomplished at playing their games, as I said." He clasps his hands over his lap. "Unfortunately, you've thrown a bit of a wrench into the whole plan with your actions at the Triskelion. It's only pure luck that Victor was hurt so badly in what amounts to my backyard. We were able to pick him up and bring him to where he could heal."

You swallow. “He’s okay?”

Your grandfather makes a face. " _Someone_ gave him an involuntary laser lobotomy, and even we have trouble dealing with something like that," he frowns, rubbing his temple. "I once took a Visigoth's axe to the head and wandered Germany for twenty years trying to remember who I was. Not a good time for the empire. But yes. He'll be okay. We're helping him get a sense for who he is."

“Can I see him?”

"...Yes, but...you can't meet him," he cautions. "I talked to the docs about it in advance, gave them some context, they're afraid that if he saw you..." he makes another face. "Well. I've already had to send a nice fruit basket to one doctor's family this week. I'd like to refrain from sending anymore."

You’ll take it. Maybe. “Let’s go, then.”

"Sure thing, Jimmy," Your grandfather nods, standing. He turns to face you, though, looking you up and down... "First things first," he pulls you into a tight hug. "Welcome back, kiddo. I can't wait for you to meet the rest of the family."

You quietly raise a hand and pat his back awkwardly, speechless. “Thanks,” you say, staring over his shoulder into nothing.

"Alright, let's get moving." He chuckles, pouring himself another whiskey for the road. "You alright? You've barely touched your drink. If you don't want it, I'll have. That's twenty-year-old bourbon." He grins, leading you out the door to the elevators, where Eloise is waiting. "I'm sure as hell glad you and your brother picked up an appreciation for the finer things in life... You've got a half-sister down in Morlock City running a bar, she's about the only one saltier than you two boys."

“What’s her name?”

"She goes by 'Marrow'. Sort of crass, in my opinion, but I guess we don't all get badass names like Sabertooth or the Wolverine." He shrugs, stepping into the elevator.

You follow him in, sipping at your drink. You had a half-sister now, too… “What about you? You ever get a name?”

"Well, the Romans called me Romulus," He shrugs. "I guess it's alright. They had this whole legend where I and my completely fictional brother were raised by a wolf. I've gone by so many names now, though, that it's all a bit passé. I'm too old for that sort of thing. Charles Rubicon is what I'm called now, so I guess I haven't strayed too far from my roots." He admits a bit sheepishly.

He smiles at you. "I'm much happier being called grandpa."

The elevator descends just as rapidly as it ascends, and your senses tell you it has passed underground before long... When the doors open, there are no windows to expansive skylines, but instead what appear to be medical wards for research and experimentation. "My business has a lot of fingers in a lot of pockets. We're a supplier for Vault-Tec, RobCo, a few other tech developers, we have some government contracts working on urban renewal, we've got medical research. I use the biomed research as a front to track down my wayward family members and also get a better understanding for our genetics.

“That's another part where you come in,” he admits. "I was hoping we could study you and your brother, along with my genetics, to perfect a gene cocktail to give to the members of our family with mutations...but not the knack."

“The knack,” you echo. “You mean being frozen in time.”

"More or less, yes. Our regenerative healing factor, if you want to get really technical like the doctors do." He shrugs. "I just like callin' it the knack."

“You said you wanted to build a new world. For the family.” You watch him guardedly, uncertain how he’ll react to your next question. “What about the rest of the mutants?”

"Well, don't get me wrong, they're all pretty useful but..." He shakes his head woefully. "Eh. I get the feeling they're too human in nature. Like that fella, Charles Xavier. All the power in the world and he thinks he can coexist with Tommy Two-Thumbs down the street. He really, truly thought he was one of them. Folks like that are only going to try and tame us, kiddo."

"Now, I heard those folks you were working with for a while... Weapon X. Now _that_ was something truly heinous and new." He makes a face. "I don't claim to understand what drew the two of you into their ranks, but I've heard they managed to transplant the healing factor successfully to a test subject. There's something different about the two of you I'm hoping to replicate for the whole family. My genes just ain't cutting it. I guess I'm too old, heh."

“How many of us have you found?” You reorient the subject, desperate not to think harder about how worrying your grandfather’s mere existence had suddenly become.

Fortunately, he seems not to be entirely aware of your discomfort. "Eighteen who are basically your standard human, one heart, one brain, two lungs. Little bit of the old spark in their noggin so there's a chance for them,” he counts off. "You and Vic, obviously, you're the only two with the knack... and then six with powers."

"Your half-sister whose husband runs the company, she's unpowered, but her daughter, Rahne..." He chuckles. "Oh, you are gonna like her." He pauses. "Wait. Not half-sister. Half…cousin? Half...ah, fuck it." Your grandfather shakes his head. "It's too damn complicated to keep straight anymore. Just don't shack up or anything because you might pollute the gene pool a little... And I know I grew up with the Etruscans, but it'd still be a little gross."

“Uh. Right.” You swallow, feeling it would be more than a _little_ gross.

He snaps his fingers. "She's your _aunt_ that's right. Your mother's half-sister, I had to think about that for a moment. So Rahne would be...your cousin! Ha!" Your grandfather nods, pleased with himself. "There we are. Like I said, I'm getting old, takes me a minute."

You finally arrive at Victor's window...he doesn't seem to see you, quietly sitting in a white room, working on a Rubik's cube. "Helps with the cognition." Romulus explains. "Works those neurons out so old connections are re-established. In a little while we'll let him run loose in the Adirondacks, get him out of this stuffy little ward."

"Though he won't be without supervision." He clarifies. "Not letting Weapon X get their grubby paws on him again."

You place your hand on the glass, a fist unclenching from around your heart. Victor...seeing him play with the toy was oddly surreal. So innocent and inoffensive compared to the wildebeest of a man you knew your brother to be. It broke your heart to see what he’d been reduced to. But at the same time, you were glad. This was the most peace you could remember Victor having in...so, so long. A peace that wasn’t found on the battlefield.

“What do you plan on doing with the Key? And that CPU.”

“Well, that CPU was certainly an unexpected bonus, I'll let the lab boys play with it. As for the Key, it affords us several advantages against Trask's tin men. Y'see, Jimmy, that brings us to the next reason why I need you with the family." He places a hand against the glass as well, his expression darkening. "We are beset on all side by all manner of foes who seek to thwart the family's ambitions. Trask? He's just a puppet for more dangerous foes... Some of whom I know, some of whom I can smell, just outside my sight, circling in the dark. Waiting for the pack to show weakness."

"Those Sentinels are weapons for killing mutants, and we're no exception. I intend to use the Key to build our own special machines to fight back... As well as a little something the lab boys are calling the Alpha-Boy. It's a modified Pip Boy 2000, meant to hack into Sentinels. It can handle the normal ones just fine, but the Alphas are too sophisticated, so we needed the Key. We've got another prototype coming down the pipeline, a government contract you may be interested in when it's ready."

He grins at you. "They call it the Stealth Boy. If you can believe it, it projects a field that almost completely obscures you from sight. Amazing technology. We're just a parts supplier, but my spies in Robco have already gotten their hands on multiple prototype schematics. It's apparently based on some sort of newfangled Chinese technology, quite fascinating."

“Nice...” you murmur, only half-listening. “Look, uh, grandpa.”

You turn. “I need some time to...think about all this.”

A flicker of surprise and disappointment crosses his face, but he compensates for it. "Oh! Right, that makes sense. Heh... I guess I've gotten so used to the idea it takes me a minute to remember you all are pretty new to it all. You didn't grow up with a family." He looks down for a moment, then back up, a shadow of deep and long-living sorrow crossing his face. "I let you all down. You weren't the first to tell me you needed time, or that I needed to get fucked." He laughs. "But... I hope you'll see that this is your family. You belong here. It's a special connection. And... I'm trying to give you what you never had before."

You breathe deeply, nodding. “I know. I’m not saying no. I just...there is a lot I’m still figuring out. About myself. This world. There are people I’m responsible for. And debts I have to pay. Want to pay.”

“After that...” you glance back at Victor longingly. “We’ll see where we wind up.”

Romulus nods quietly, putting his hand on your shoulder. "Alright, kiddo. That makes sense. And given what you've done at the Triskelion, you've set the atomic clock back a couple ticks, so you've probably got time to sort it all out."

“I’ll see myself out.”

You turn for the elevator, hesitating. There was a voice in you - not Xavier’s, but another voice. The parts of you that wanted to stay. All of them talking to you. Wasn’t this what you always wanted? A safe place for you and Victor. A place where you could be, without fear or regret or judgement.

Family. The most important thing to you in the world. The only thing constant in a world that was always changing while you stayed the same. Your mother. Your father. Your brother. Your grandfather. You’ve been alone for so long. Always on the outside, looking in. Never touching for more than the briefest instant. Never lingering for longer than a blink.

You could stay here. You could be happy here. No more guilt. No more of Cyclop’s accusing stares. Magneto’s withering disdain. You would be welcome here.

But the purchase of that happiness would be measured in nuclear fallout. Your grandfather had a plan, and he’d had decades to make it come to fruition. You can’t stop him now. You don’t want to try. But you can’t join a cause that willfully works for the ruination or billions of lives.

He was a supremacist. Caliban. Havok. Arctic and Angel. People like Cole. Their lives, their sacrifices, their humanity would mean little to Romulus. Because the only family that mattered to him was the family of blood - and even then, only if they had at least a little of the animal spark they had all been cursed to carry. You’ll find another way. And somehow, show it to him that there is room left in the world for men like them. Like you.

Somehow.

**_ XxXxX _ **

_"Applejack this is Da Nang Tower, do you copy?"_

_"I copy, Da Nang Tower, what's the good word?"_

_"There are no bogies, repeat, no bogies in your airspace. You are clear to begin your attack vector."_

_"Roger that, tower, dropping payload now, Applejack out."_

[Great plumes of fire ascended into the light of dawn before you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N7XCRtGDEbU) as air force jockeys cruised low over the steaming jungles of Vietnam. The first jet left a scorching line that incinerated acres of trees and brush to mere ash in seconds. A second jet quickly followed behind it, carpet-bombing another trail through the forest, directly adjacent. If there had been anyone down there, you couldn't tell, but you were glad the whooshing blades of the helicopter drowned out almost all of the hellish noise of the inferno.

Another chain of fire bombs was dropped. A fourth chain. A fifth. Absolute and total destruction on a wide scale as the transport helicopters flew wide circles around the black scar on the earth. The soldier next to you, operating a belt-fed turret roared in primal lust for the sheer destructive potential on display.

Behind you, Victor merely sneered. His taste for warfare was more refined. Wanton destruction like this was...tasteless.... In his eyes. What was the point to war if you couldn't even look your enemy in the eye when you extinguished the life in his eyes?

When the fires subsided enough, the fleet of helicopters landed quickly, dispensing Tango and Zulu companies onto the black ash of what used to be dense Vietnamese jungle. You gripped your Winchester 1200 shotgun close to your chest, breathing in deeply before jumping out and putting boots on the ground. Clouds of black dust erupted under your feet, with more emerging as Victor hopped down behind you, also carrying a shotgun. Out of your platoon, the two of you were considered CQC specialists and the men to call on when you needed to send someone after the VC in their tunnels. The platoon also boasted a record few could in this war: an incredibly low casualty rate, thanks to you and your brother's ability to detect traps and enemy soldiers with almost supernatural ease.

It was because of your success that you had been sent on this suicide mission.

"GATHER 'ROUND, DARLINGS!" Colonel Ellison Nancy barked, able to be easily heard even over the roar of the helicopters taking off. "COME ON, IN CASE YOU FORGOT THIS IS ENEMY TERRITORY SO MAYBE STOP ADMIRING EACH OTHER'S ASSES AND TAKE A GANDER OVER HERE!"

"Prick." Victor mutters under his breath, walking past you and shouldering his shotgun.

“Loud enough to be compensating for one,” you reply in low agreement. You didn’t necessarily share your brother’s aversion to authority, but you were hot, itchy, and a little less tolerant of upjumped assholes shouting in your sensitive ears than you usually were. You flex your knuckles and slide your claws internally forward, then backward. A way of keeping the channels clean, so they weren’t jammed up when you needed them most.

You follow after your brother.

The two companies gather around the colonel, while a few technicians busily set up a command and control from which the officer could direct them all about like a game of chess. "NOW I KNOW Y'ALL WOULD LIKE TO BE BACK IN SAIGON PARTYING IT UP WITH ALL THOSE YELLOW WHORES I KNOW YOU LIKE," He puts his hands on his hips, turning around slowly. "BUT UNFORTUNATELY FOR Y'ALL, A BOY WHO PARTIES TEN TIMES HARDER THAN YOU HARD, CRUSTY FUCKS GOT HIS ASS CAPTURED BY THE GOD-DAMN VIET CONG AND IS BEING HELD IN THE TIGER'S MAW!"

Victor audibly groaned with frustration. "Sir, do you mean to tell me that we're going on a fucking rescue mission in North Vietnamese turf?!" He says with a tinge of anger. The Tiger's Maw was a stupid name, but it was one the VC and North Vietnamese had named to make completely sure everyone knew it was a serious place... The worst prison in North Vietnam a POW could be dragged to.

The colonel turns to look at your brother with a hint of anger himself. "WHY YES, THAT'S RIGHT CORPORAL CREED." He begins pacing back and forth. "YOUR MISSION IS SIMPLE - ZULU COMPANY WILL ESTABLISH A PERIMETER AND SET UP A LINE THAT WILL RAIN ABSO-FUCKING-LUTE HELL ON THE TIGER'S MAW AND SECURE A ROUTE OF ESCAPE. TANGO COMPANY WILL ADVANCE, BREACH THE PRISON, AND EXTRACT THE VIP!"

You elbow Victor warningly. "Sure thing, Colonel. Maw's just the right kind of party for us hard, crusty fucks anyhow." You smile thinly. At a certain point in your life you had grown weary of suicide missions. Now you were somewhere past that point - a rescue and suicide mission just seemed appropriate for the escalation of war you'd seen the past century.

That wasn't to say you were enthused about the prospect of getting your asshole dragged through a field of bamboo pitfalls and Vietcong crossfire. But you were here, that was the job, and unfortunately you and Victor were the best there were at what you did. Even if it wasn't very nice.

"ALRIGHT, DO YOUR JOBS! HOOAH!" He nods and you repeat the battle cry mechanically, falling in with your platoon as the two companies begin the march north through the jungle. In some ways, you got the sense that firebombing ten acres of forest to ash was perhaps not the best way to maintain a stealthy approach, but fuck you, apparently.

One of the privates, a young kid of only 18 hung close to you and Victor, even though he knew you two were the not exactly the social sort. Victor frowns slightly when he hears the footsteps, glancing over his shoulder only to growl. "Kid, I swear to god you stick to us tighter than shit on boots. _What is your fuckin' malfunction?"_

The private shrugs, glancing between the two of you casually... But you can see the nervousness. "I didn't sign up to be f-fucking turned into chipped beef in this meat grinder." He mumbles. "You two are the m-meanest m-motherfuckers in the whole battalion. F-figure if I stick with you two I'll actually survive this hellhole." It was almost adorable how the little church boy stumbled over his swear words, but it only seemed to piss Victor off more.

"I swear to god, Stryker." He shakes his head. "You are the biggest fucking pussy in the entirety of Vietnam, and I met a lady in Saigon who had a gash eight inches wi-"

"CREED!" The sergeant barked, coming alongside the two of you. "Why don't you take point, scout ahead for traps? Your brother can hang back with us and make sure we don't get flanked, a'ight?" He says with steel in his voice.

Victor glances at you. "Makes me think fondly of New York," he grunts, walking faster to get ahead of the company. "You remember New York, right? Good times, right? AT LEAST WE DIDN'T GET FUCKING _TRENCH FOOT_ IN BROOKLYN!"

You sigh. Sometimes you were very dubious of the idea that you were the younger brother. "Sorry, sir. He's just ornery."

You were pretty sure Victor would chafe at being described as 'ornery' but fuck him. He was being a brat and you didn't enjoy having to play good cop to his asshole cop all the time. You try to smile reassuringly at Stryker, but you're fairly certain your face wasn't made for real smiles. Not the reassuring kind, anyway. "Don't worry, kid. I'm sure this'll all just be a walk in the park."

Stryker frowned doubtfully, gripping his M16 tightly and following along behind you. As you continued forward for fifteen minutes, forty-five, a full hour... You heard a bird call, a familiar one, one that you and Victor had used since you were little boys. He was signaling for you to come up and join him. He wouldn't use it unless there was something important. "Permission to move up, sir?"

"...Alright, go ahead." The sergeant nods, giving you the go-ahead. You move ahead quickly, moving through the jungle with more ease than the average grunt could. You find Victor quickly, your brother marking a pitfall quickly before glancing at you. "We've been out here an hour and we've already long since crossed all sorts of lines. Something is fucking off about this entire mission."

You frown. "Okay," you reply carefully. "What's got you sayin' that?”

"Have you not noticed that there's nobody out here but us, and we lit half of North Vietnam on fire just to say hi while we make a beeline for their worst prison?" He looks around nervously. "I've only found some traps, but there's been no one, not even a fucking scout out here. Where the fuck _are_ they?"

"...'Nother question. Who the hell is this guy we're rescuing? All this for an op on the Maw for one guy? And no security for miles, like you said," you scowl. "Maybe they know they picked up someone important. And they're just waiting for our dumb asses to come walking in to take him back.”

"Fuuuccccck," Victor paces in a circle, clutching his head. "I tell ya, Jimmy, I'm not exactly thrilled to be having to crawl into some fucking deathtrap and get riddled with bullets again for some dumbass VIP. This shit gets _old_ , man!"

"Hey, you were the one who wanted to come out to this fuckin' jungle in the first place. This is what we do. It can't all be straight up fights all the time."

Victor pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales loudly. "Yeah. Yeah. You're right. Christ. I just thought it'd be a little more fun, I guess."

You sigh, reaching out to pat your brother on the arm. "There'll be more fights, Vic," you speak soothingly. "There always are. Think of it as a challenge - like fucking a woman upside down. Sure, it's tough, but it makes a hell of a story down the line."

Victor turns to stare at you for a long moment before bursting out in laughter. "PFFFTAHAHAHA!" He pauses, trying to catch his breath, wheezing, and breaking out into further paroxyms of giggles. "EHe- Ehe- EHEHEHAHAHAHhooops" Staggering back as he tries to catch his breath, he accidentally drops into the pitfall.

You put a palm to your face and slowly drag it down. Oh, Victor. You loved him, but you were pretty sure if he didn't heal the way he did, he'd have found a way to kill himself in the womb. And probably while having the time of his life. You lean over the hole and see what you can do about getting your dumb bear of a brother out of a trap - again.

"RRRggghhh!" He groans in pain as several bamboo sticks pierce his torso. "Well don't just stand there, throw me a fucking- hhh- fucking rope, man...this shit _hurts_!"

You unravel a roll of rope and toss it down, digging in your heels as you prepare to act as a counterweight. By sheer force of will, Victor drags himself off the bamboo spikes, trying his best not to scream in pain and bring the whole company down on yourselves. It wouldn't do if they all found out the two of you were regenerating mutants. He pulls himself all the way up to the edge, huffing. His wounds had almost entirely healed already.

"We never speak of this again," he grunts. "C'mon, let's ditch these morons and just go over to the Maw by ourselves. We'll have an easier time without Zulu shelling our asses by mistake. It's like Colonel Dickwad has never heard of friendly fire before."

You stare at him reproachfully. "You just said that none of this smelled right, now you wanna go stick your dick in a hornet's nest and see whether we get stung?"

"I dunno, maybe _pain_ makes me a little masochistic," he inhales deeply, pawing at his uniform to pull out a cigarette. "Fuck I think this was my last uniform without holes in it..." Victor mumbles. He pulls out the packet, which has a bloody hole poked through it. ".... _Mannnn_..." he mumbles, tossing the pack into the pit.

You roll your eyes, reaching into your own uniform and pulling out your last cigar. "Here. Baby needs his bottle." Your eyes twinkle amusedly.

"Hrrmph," he lights it with a grumpy expression. "Well by my estimation this'll be a good place for Zulu to set up their kill zone." He puffs on the cigar for a moment before pulling it away and glancing at the label with an approving expression. "Tango rushes it, we kill any slant-eyed mother _fuckers_ who come at us with anything more dangerous than a teaspoon."

You nod. Victor had a better eye than you did for this sort of thing. An instinct you only sometimes tapped into. "Let's get back. They're probably wondering where we are."

He nods and the two of you head back to rejoin with your platoon. As Victor explains the situation to the sergeants and lieutenants, who agreed that under the circumstances it was best approach cautiously. Zulu set up their mortars and shelled the position as best as they could before you and Victor lead Tango towards the maw through fields of broken trees, debris, and shrapnel. The Maw was a concrete monolith rising out of the jungle, barely visible through the vines and camo netting disguising its location. As you approached, there were no machine guns opening fire, no grenades or mines... It was eerily quiet.

And then you heard it, the lightest trace that made your ears twitch...inside the Maw, you could hear gunfire. And screaming. Victor glanced at you with a worried expression, pulling his shotgun tight against his shoulder as the two of you advanced towards the closest entrance.

You keep your shotgun pointed dead ahead, advancing cautiously.

**THOOM.**

A shuddering echo came from inside the maw, making you stop in your tracks. “The fuck?”

**Th-o-OM**

**THOOM**

**_THOOM_ **

**_ THOOOM _ **

[The wall above the entrance cracked, dust and chips of concrete falling to the jungle floor before you...](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uctu1e353os)and then the wall suddenly explodes outwards, spraying you, Victor, and your whole squad with rubble as a grey shape leaps out of the hole and slams down in the midst of you.

 ** _"Who wants a piece of this?"_** A modulated voice growls as a heavy suit of metal armor rises from the midst of the squad, armed with a makeshift flamethrower and what looked like a missile launcher.

"TONY!" A voice shouted from above, and you glanced up to see a black man in an air force service uniform, waving his hands frantically, "DO NOT ENGAGE, THEY ARE FRIENDLIES, DO NOT ENGAGE!"

 _"WHAT THE FUCK?!"_ Victor backed away quickly, his shotgun leveled at the tower suit of iron.

"Fuuuuuuuuuck me," you follow your brother in beating a swift retreat. "Uh. Hi. We're Americans, big guy. Please point your missile launcher somewhere yellower," you eye that particular piece of weaponry nervously. Flamethrower would hurt more, but you weren't exactly certain you wanted to test how well you recovered from being blown into multiple chunks.

And yes, technically you were both Canadian. But the robot didn't need to know that.

The faceplate of the armor pops up, revealing a grimy kid not much older than Stryker was, looking around at them with an incredulous expression. "Really?" He asks, holding up his hands. "Really."

"I go through all this effort and you guys almost stole my thunder. Rhodes. Rhodes. RHODES!" He shouts.

"WHAT?! I CAN _HEAR_ YOU, TONY!" The black guy, Rhodes, shouts back with exasperation. This was clearly a thing for them.

"THEY ALMOST STOLE MY THUNDER! IF I WAS EVEN A FEW MINUTES LATER THEY'D HAVE TOTALLY UNDERMINED EVERYTHING WE WORKED FOR THESE LAST FEW WEEKS!"

"THAT IS YOUR MOST PRESSING CONCERN RIGHT NOW?" Rhodes replied.

"WELL-" Tony pauses. "Well, I _did_ put a lot of work into this."

"Hi." He grins at you all. "Hi. Tony Stark. Brilliant teenage inventor, heir to Stark Industries. Hi. You can all get autographs later. You," he points a finger at you. "Nice muttonchops. C'mon down, Rhodes, I'll catch you." Stark holds his hands up to Rhodes, who shakes his head.

"Uhuh. No way. No. I'm not jumping down for you to catch me." Rhodes says waspishly.

"C'mon, jump down. Don't you trust me?" Stark asks.

Your confusion and fear is rapidly being replaced by intense aggravation. This kid had a very punchable face, and with that faceplate out of the way...oh it would be _so_ easy. "Okay. Pause," you raise a hand. " _What_ the fuck is that," you point at the suit of armor. " _Who_ the fuck are you two," you point at the black man, then the kid. "And _why_ the fuck are you here?"

"Oh. Hm. Are you in charge? You seem to have a- have a very, 'in charge' sort of face." Victor rolls his eyes at this, but Tony presses on. "Well. I, and my valiant cohort up there, that's Rhodes, say hi to the nice soldiers, Rhodes. Well, we were out here- Oh. This?" He gestures to the suit with a wide grin. "This, my friend, this is the best idea I ever had and when I get home I'm patenting the fuck out of it and I'm gonna make a million just like it for all my GI friends. YOU ALL? YOU ALL GET THE FIRST SUITS JUST BECAUSE I LIKE YA SO DAMN MUCH!" He raises his hands, waiting for adulation that... Really isn't coming from the bewildered soldiers.

"Wait." Tony turns back around to you. "You haven't heard of me? Tony Stark? Son of brilliant douchebag Howard Stark?"

"I've heard of ya." Victor grumbles. "Your dad makes the fancy cars."

"Ugh. Yes. So over-engineered, but what can you do." He shrugs. "Anyhow, I was out here with Rhodes, up there, we were doing a weapons demonstration for the US military, very hush hush stuff that... I should probably stop talking about." He clams up for a moment. "BUT IT WAS REALLY, REALLY cool, let me tell you, it was so cool. One of my ideas." He nods. "Anyhow, we were flying back when I tell Rhodes I want to buzz Hanoi annnnd..."

"We crashed when he thought he could pilot a helicopter." Rhodes says as he climbs down the vines. "Got picked up by the VC and brought here to make weapons for the communists. They said some asshole from Russia was even on his way here to pick Tony up."

Tony nods. "So we had to escape," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "And with this suit of powered armor, that was... _pssch_. Total breeze. But I guess you guys are here for...picking me up? Which is really great, it's a team effort. High fives all around. If you want, you can do that whole thing where you carry me over to the helicopters as we get airlifted...though it's going...going to be hard..."

He fidgets, trying to figure out how to extricate himself. "Get out of this...maybe...ten of you could lift me? Ok, ten of you, come over, we're going to practice this. There's a news crew, right? You've got a film reel going? We'll edit it later, but we should practice so someone doesn't get a hernia."

Over the course of this long, long monologue by a kid so young he may as well be a sperm compared to you, you've discovered several interesting things about yourself. One, when you're very irritated but trying to control it the fine muscles of your brow contract into a little arc. You're fairly certain your face is going to be stuck that way now. Two, you've achieved your maximum limit of words you want to have spoken at you in the course of a single conversation and if this brat says one more you're going to turn this from a rescue mission into an assassination.

"Just...ugh. _Fuck_ this," you turn and begin to walk away. You are absolutely  _done_ with Vietnam. "We should've gone to fucking Cyprus."

"Hey! Hey, where's he going, isn't this supposed to be a rescue mission?" Tony asks obliviously as Victor follows after you, shaking his head.

"Mentioning Cyprus - so I had an idea," your older brother starts, holding his hands up to capture it. "Colombia. We have the jungle experience, we move cocaine for the cartels. Eh? Make way more money doing that and maybe they let us kill some of their rivals. Maybe you could join the paramilitaries, be just like New York. Because I am officially fucking done with this bullshit."

"I'm listening,” you reply, the two of you passing your newly arrived and soon-to-be-ex-comrades. Stryker glances your way as you pass, pausing in his tracks.

"...Hey, Creed?" The young private voices quietly.

Victor stops in place and breathes deep. "Yeah, kid? What the  _fuck_ do you want?"

Stryker frowns, and as you glance back you see he is staring intently at the place where Victor's wounds had been. Something roused in his eyes.

"...Where did those holes in your uniform come from?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eloise is ‘played’ by Talulah Riley in all her elegant beauty, while Ed Harris is truly the only choice for the grandfather of the Wolverine. Naturally, given the choice of Westworld music throughout the tale, Malganis and I think of their Westworld roles in particular for appearance and mannerisms.


	9. The Black Knight

Awaken the Wolverine

Chapter IX: The Black Knight

 

[Having finished your meeting with Romulus,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KFyXM5E7kyg) your grandfather, you stepped out onto the busy New York City streets, adjusting your stance for a moment as you reflected on all you had learned.... Your grandfather was still alive after all these years, and had been alive for centuries longer than you ever had been. And now...he was planning the end of the world, the human world, so that he and his Brotherhood of Mutants could rule over the ashes.

You inhaled deeply, processing all of this and coming to terms with it. It seemed inevitable that your loyalties would come into conflict someday, somehow... But for now, you had work to do. Heading north to where you had left Havok and Caliban, you find them waiting in the car, quietly eating some food Havok had gotten from a deli.

"'Bout time you got back." Caliban said around a mouthful of his sandwich. "We were beginning to think Mystique was right and this was a trap after all, and someone was stuffing your body into an incinerator."

Havok rolls his eyes. "I figured you'd be able to get out if there was a scrape. What did you find out?"

"...More than I bargained for," you reply lowly, sitting yourself down into the driver's seat. "My brother's safe, though. Best place he could be. So...mission accomplished."

You smile wanly.

"Oh... Uh, well, great." Havok replies, a little curious. "Well, I guess that's it, then. Let's go back to the base and figure out our next step." He says, buckling himself in.

You put the car in drive and begin the road back to X-Force's hideout.

**_ XxXxX _ **

It was getting close to evening when you arrived back at base. Things were pretty quiet as usual - the teenagers were in their dormitory, quietly playing cards to pass the tedious hours underground. Erik was in his office reading a book while Mystique was busy cleaning and maintaining a series of pistols, assault rifles, and shotguns.

"You're back," She noted flatly as you came down the ladder with the other two. "I suppose that's good." You could tell she was still annoyed you left to chase after this mission against her advice.

"I'd say it's not _bad_ , at least. But that's just me," you shrug. You pick up one of her assembled pistols, casually examining the piece. It's been impressively well-maintained. She definitely knew what she was doing. "Where'd you learn to do this?"

"Back in the old days, not all of our members had wildly bombastic powers. We all had to learn how to use guns," she replies indifferently. "We stole some army manuals that taught how to do this thing and taught ourselves with trial and error. Sometimes those errors cost lives, so we learned to do it better."

“You care if I lend a hand?”

"...If you want," she assents softly. Alex and Caliban know better than to be involved in this little situation and quietly move to handle their own matters while you sit across from her.

You clear your throat awkwardly. "Sorry if I came 'cross as brushing you off. Didn't mean it like that. Just...gets hard when it's family, y'know?"

"..." Her expression shows she's fighting with herself after you said that. "I... I _understand_ that. All too well." She mumbles under her breath while rubbing oil into a rifle's mechanisms. "Sometimes, though, family matters came close to tearing this whole thing apart. One time, it did. I know better than anyone the danger. I just...”

Mystique is quiet for a moment, judging you with a critical eye. “For one of the founding members, as someone who has been here all this time, it frustrates me when people don't listen to my experience. Like, I don't _want_ to think it's because I'm a woman." She frowns. "But I just don't get it. So many times Charles and Erik would be deliberating over something and when I gave my opinion, I just turned freaking invisible."

She turns a slightly greenish shade of blue.... was she blushing? "Sometimes I would shapeshift to look like one of them just so I could be heard."

You imagine a wizened, grey-haired duplicate of Magneto coquettishly putting a hand on 'his' hip and demanding attention. The picture makes you laugh softly. "Sorry. That's just really funny to imagine."

You start your own work dismantling a .45 Auto handgun, the routine coming to you through a familiar deja vu that guides your hands so long as you don't think too much about what you're doing. Reflexive memory.

"Well, and hopefully this ain't crossing a line," you pause. "I don't know about Charles or Magneto being sexist. I mean – maybe they are, I don’t know. But I think sometimes their heads are a little high up in the clouds. And the rest of us just take whatever they rain down. If that makes sense. Don't think they mean anything by it, it's just how they're built," you gesture to her. "And sometimes you gotta build a ladder to climb up there and get their attention."

Mystique actually chuckles at your analogy. "You're probably right about that, great men all have their heads in the clouds, so wrapped up in their dreams, plans, and ideals they sometimes forget to come back down to earth." She grins a little. "Charles was often like that. He needed Erik to clue him in sometimes to how people were hurting and how that pain needed a release. Without catharsis, people couldn't heal. Charles sometimes forgot that not everyone could be as forgiving as he could be."

"As for Erik...” Mystique sighs quietly. “Well. Without Charles, there'd be a lot more Triskelion events with a lot less provocation without Charles. That's ultimately what made me decide to send the kids away."

You nod sympathetically. You've never had children. At least, none that you can remember or have met. But you can appreciate feeling like you have to part from family for their own good. Wasn't that what you were doing now?

"You and Magneto, how many kids do you have?"

She is silent for a moment, like this might be a bit of a sore subject. " _We_ have just two kids. Anna and Kurt. I've actually been trying to get in contact with them to bring them and their families into the fold, so we can protect them from Weapon X and the others. Anna looks more like her father, while Kurt... Uh... Has a bit more of my characteristics."

"Lucky him," you reply with all sincerity. "If you mean he looks as badass as you."

"Heh, you're one of the few men not to be put off by the blue skin," she replies, rather wistful. "Most of the time I find men averting their eyes whenever I turn to look at them."

You wince internally. Yeah, probably because Magneto would cut their balls off and make a necklace out of them if they looked back. "I've been around a while. Met people all shapes, sizes. But you're the first person I know who's got your shade. Makes you unique. Unique's good, way I see it."

"So...I know you and Magneto were together a while. I see the connection there. What about with Charles? How'd all of you fall in together like this?"

"Oh, Charles was like my brother. We've known each other since we were children,” Mystique smiles, nostalgic. "He helped me live off of the street, we were inseparable. It was when we met Erik that we all decided to start X-Force with other friends of ours. That was a lifetime ago, though.... Most all of them are dead now."

"Charles sounds like a hell of a guy," you sigh. "Wish I could've met him. Really met him, I mean. I'm sorry for...what I did."

"He was the best of us." She says, quiet for a moment. "And the worst. It took him a long time to become the man who would lead X-Force. He had to grow up a lot and learn to make use of his powers in a way that let him see people as people. He learned a lot by making mistakes. He knew the risks better than anyone. He knew that crossing Weapon X would unleash something more dangerous than any other enemy we had faced. He knew this life would kill him, he had no regrets.”

She sets a gun aside. "And you weren't you. Whatever your past, whatever choices brought you to them, they turned you into a monster."

"Thank you. That means a lot," you finally say after a long pause. Some part of you wants to cling to the guilt, to challenge her assertion that you had only been a monster because Weapon X turned you into one. The part that knows just how similar you and Victor can be, when you get right down to it. But you let it slide, because another part of you very badly wants to believe that maybe, just maybe, you can prove her right in the end.

You excuse yourself politely. "Thanks for the company. See you around?"

You pause. Hadn’t you just talked about Mystique’s relevance to X-Force’s leadership? "Actually, just had a thought. I'm about to brief Magneto on the mission. Figured you'd want to sit in."

She blinks in momentary surprise, and then smiles at the consideration. "Yes, I would appreciate that." She says quickly, wiping oil off of her hands with a rag. "Let's go now." she joins you in walking to Magneto's office, the old leader lowering his book as he sees them approach.

"Hrm. This is giving me flashbacks. Whenever Mystique and Charles would come by my quarters I knew I was about to lose an argument." Magneto sets the book aside. "Glad to see you're back. How did your mission go?"

"Well, there's good news, bad news, and uh. Terrible news. Which do you want first?"

"..." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "The flashbacks are getting worse now."

"Tell us from the beginning," Mystique bids calmly, sitting on Erik’s desk.

You take a breath. Giving a mission report - another memory that was more reflex than substance to you. "Alright. So....using the intel Rubicon gave me, our team went out to capture and replace a merc in the security outfit tasked with guarding the Key."

"Turned out I met the guy when I was in Weapon X. He, uh, didn't have good memories of that. But I convinced him to help us ambush the convoy. We probably wouldn't have made it without his help. His name was Cole." You pace a little. "Took out the convoy with some mines, and a whole lotta shooting and blasting from Havok. Two Alpha Sentinels are toast now, too. We're all a little crispy but no serious injuries. Havok'll need a few weeks to get back to one-hundred, at most."

You hesitate. Here came the hard part....

"We...took the Key, and a Sentinel CPU to the meet-up point. After having Caliban take a look at them. The boss of the company was waiting for me. Named...Romulus," you close your eyes. "My grandfather. He's the head of Rubicon. My brother was there with him all along, recovering."

"Your grandfather." Magneto repeats flatly.

You smile grimly. "I hadn't seen him in almost two hundred years. He's been finding all our family, bringin' them together. He wants to wait for the next world war to start, then take all of us and live among the ashes."

"That's...insane." Mystique says slowly. She looks at you for a long moment, as if trying to figure out whether or not you agreed. "There won't be anything left if a nuclear war happens, how...."

Magneto rubs the grain of his desk. "Their healing factors. If James and this... Romulus...can survive for centuries as well as survive lethal wounds, then obviously they could survive the nuclear fire. The question is...why? What does the family stand to gain?"

"A world where we can just...be. For some of us, it's harder to live like men than others. My..." you exhale softly again. "My brother being one of them. He can't live in a world as...civilized as this. It was driving him mad. Bet it's doing the same to a lot of my half-siblings and cousins, too. I told him I'd think about it. I just need to find a way to change his mind. Before this all comes to a head."

"It seems like he's been thinking about this for a while. How exactly are you planning to change his mind?" Mystique asks.

“I was hoping you might have some ideas.”

"Ah," she sighs. "Well, Charles managed to turn you from a ravenous killer mutant into someone halfway-decent, though we really have no way of knowing whether or not you're entirely the same as the person you were beforehand. Maybe we just need to find another telepath."

"...Or we prevent him from gaining his endgame altogether,” Magneto suggests. "No nuclear war, no means for him to establish his post-apocalyptic empire with his own family picking across the bones of a dead civilization."

Mystique makes a face. "That's not exactly changing his mind."

"If we can get him on our side, we'd have my entire family backing us. All of Rubicon's assets," you press on, trying every available angle you can conceive of. "Stopping World War III is good for all of us. And it might not change his mind, but it gives us time to build a case or...find a strong enough telepath." You're not necessarily keen on brainwashing your grandfather. But, frankly, he's fucking genocidal and you don't exactly have the luxury of respecting his individuality.

"Save the world, convince Romulus to switch sides, and X-Force gets that much bigger. Think of how much we could get accomplished compared to where we are now."

"To convince him to switch sides, you have to find a way to cure your family's feral nature, or to convince him they can find some way to integrate with humanity, or have a place they can call their own, that will never be touched or spoilt by humans," Erik pauses. "It is not in the nature of humanity to leave a stone unturned. Even if we had Charles, it wouldn't be possible."

Erik stares at you for a moment. "And if your grandfather doesn't change his mind?"

You stare right back. “Then I’ll deal with that when it comes.”

You don’t sound nearly as certain as you want to.

The room is quiet after that. "...We'll all cross that bridge when we come to it." Erik finally says, not pressing the issue any further. "Thank you for that information. Let's all look for ways we can undermine Rubicon's operations in a stealthy manner in the meantime. No direct confrontations, we don't want to provoke Romulus... But we can't allow them to succeed in their goals. Do you know of anything that might impede them? Any flaws or weaknesses in his plan? Because if all he needs is the end of the world, then there's not much we can do except start disabling U.S. nuclear missile silos."

“All I know is that he’s busy with more than a few other factions looking to take him on. Maybe if we could find those groups, we could get some kind of coalition going. RobCo is one of them, I know that much.”

“Sabotage his industrial contacts, figure out which politicians he’s paying and take them out of the running.”

"Hmm," Magneto clutches his chin. "Perhaps. We'll have to look into it. For now, X-Force has other concerns...and they're not just of a personal nature. As you know, we're trying to bring Nightcrawler, Rogue, and Shadowcat back into the fold, for their own protection and because we need their help in this war. I have no doubt that at this very moment SHIELD and Weapon X are closing in on their locations. I want you to back up Mystique in finding them and bringing them back."

"We haven't gotten confirmation on their locations, but we do have some ideas." He follows up. "Nightcrawler was living in Germany with his family, while Rogue was down in Tennessee, around Nashville. The last we heard of Shadowcat, she was in Washington D.C., running a political espionage ring for foreign governments."

“We’ll hit D.C. first, then. Maybe she will have some intel we can use. Then Nashville, then Germany. Unless anyone has a different plan?”

Mystique consider this, but it makes sense to her. "Alright, let's get our team together and get prepared to go."

**_ XxXxX _ **

["You're serious?! We finally get to go?!"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ed6BqiFxLE) Arctic hopped up to his feet in excitement, looking like a dog that just got told it was going for walkies. "WOO! WE'RE FINALLY GETTING OUT OF HERE!"

Scott looked a little surprised to be left behind, but you felt he sort of understood... Havok had taken a beating and needed someone who could look after him with a personal touch. The visored X-force member nodded slowly, smiling for his two friends...friends as close as brothers. "Be safe out there, you two. Don't be heroes, listen to what Mystique tells you."

Angel reaches out a hand to clasp Cyclops' shoulder. "We'll be safe. Hold down the fort until we get back."

"We'll be back before you know it." Mystique says with a knowing smile, tousling the hair of the two young mutants. "Until then, we'll be checking in regularly. Let us know if you want any souvenirs." There was something about this ritual, something achingly familiar for you.

Ah...right. The feeling of family. Even with all of its bickering and schisms, X-Force never stopped caring about each other.

"James." Havok limps up to the group, holding a book out to you. "Some reading material for the ride. Just something to pass the time. I haven't finished it yet, so make sure you bring it back."

You take the book, studying the cover - Kafka's _Metamorphosis_. "It's not exactly a cheerful read, but...yeah." He grins sheepishly.

Together, you and the team clamber to the surface where Angel nervously looks at the cramped car, but Mystique shakes her head, walking past the boy. "You'll be our eye in the sky, Angel. Use the radio communicator to let us know when you need to take a break and we'll rendezvous with you."

Angel's face breaks out into a wide grin and he quickly stretches out his wings to their full length... He pauses for only a minute before launching into the sky, soaring around them with a gleeful grin at finally being able to stretch his wings.

You were, as always, dubious of flying in any capacity. But there was also a saying that you recalled from a past life - "If we were meant to fly, we'd grow wings."

Looking at Angel's joyous flight, you could begin to see some of the appeal of slipping the bonds of gravity. You thank Alex for the book and follow after the group, your eyes occasionally flitting up to spy the small human shape carried by great white wings. Yeah...maybe there was something to flying, when it was like that.

You, Mystique, and Arctic piled into the ever-faithful car, the shapeshifter insisting on getting behind the driver's wheel. "It's a six-and-a-half-hour drive down to D.C., not counting breaks to let the kid catch his breath, so get comfortable back there." She barked at Arctic as he buckled in. "I don't want to hear 'are we there yet' for the next quarter of a day."

"Yes, ma'am," Arctic replied, staring out the window excitedly. He was too happy about this to be brought down now.

She shakes her head and starts the engine, driving down the dirt road to the main street. "Like I mentioned before, Shadowcat was running her own political espionage ring down in DC. Dangerous work, but work she was uniquely suited for. Made her a lot of enemies though, so time is short. Someone will rat her out to the authorities, if they haven't already.”

"Shadowcat, huh. What's her power? Invisibility? Teleporting?" You throw out based on her name.

"She can phase through solid objects. Has a little trouble with water, but she can basically fly through walls. She had one hell of a learning curve, though, and she... well," Mystique sighs. "An accident benched her from combat. We were able to get her help so that she could live life normally, but...her utility is a little more limited now."

"Damn..." you reply with some melancholy. "Still, that's a pretty neat power. I can see how that would make her a good spy. Who did you have her monitoring?"

"No one, she started the business on her own after she quit X-Force," Mystique says, with a small hint of maternal smugness. "She picked up the skills she needed to succeed and while we may have benched her from combat, she felt she had work to do still. So she left, set up shop in DC, and got her business rolling."

"Good on her," you throw a glance back to the backseat. "How you feelin', kid? Ready to stretch your legs?"

"Yep! I'm ready! Cyclops told me about how he blasted the Triskelion so I figure I've gotta at least bury the White House in a snowbank to get even somewhat close to how cool he is!" Arctic says with a cheerful, goofy grin.

"Um," you glance at Mystique with some uncertainty. "Maybe don't do that. But if we get into a scrape, I'm sure you can handle yourself fine. How tight is your control with your power anyway?"

"Yeah, none of that." Mystique says gruffly.

"Oh I can do lots of things! I can make the room cold, I can shoot jets of freezing... Stuff... From my hands! I can create some shapes, and I can also cover my skin in ice! But Professor Xavier said I should stop doing that because I almost lost all my skin." He says breathlessly.

"He might've had a point..."

"Y-yeah, but it still looked cool! And it would have been like really cool armor, y'know?" You had to remind yourself that this kid was seventeen or eighteen and not twelve. He really had spent too much time with Xavier and Magneto it seemed. "But Hank said it probably wasn't that effective...but we weren't able to test it!"

Mystique sighs. "That's because you almost gave yourself frostbite on every inch of your body."

"Any weird mishaps that ever happened with your shapeshifting, Mystique? All your hair fall out, turned into a she-man?" You grin at the thought.

She blushes, turning that ubiquitous shade of green. "N-no. I've never had any mishaps. Ever. I've always had strong control over my power."

"Come onnnnn," you jeer. "There's gotta be something."

"Telllll us! We won't tell another soul, promise!" Arctic prompts as well.

"........" Mystique is silent for a few moments before quietly opening and closing her mouth. "I...once...tried to shapeshift into an animal. It didn't work. What I did look like was...uh. Let's just say it was one of the few times I ever saw Charles shriek in terror."

"Well now I want to see."

"Yeah that's not happening," she replies grumpily, speeding up to get on their way faster.

You snigger, pleased with yourself.

After a prolonged drive, Angel finally calls in asking for a break. The car pulls off the road somewhere in Pennsylvania, finding a nice secluded spot where they were unlikely to be seen. Angel touches down nearby, coming over to get some food and water from Arctic. His hours in flight had turned his pale white skin a bright shade of pink. The kid had forgotten to apply sunscreen in his excitement.

"Lady and gentleman, today we're seeing a very rare bird," Arctic grins. "The Pink-Faced Tit."

Angel, guzzling water, flips Arctic off.

"Enjoy your flight?" You flick Arctic on the forehead, as chastisement for his (admittedly funny) remark. He yelps indignantly. Feeling stiff from your long drive, you set about doing some stretched, popping the muscles in your back and legs in particular. "Hnnngh." Ah, that felt good.

"Yeah!" Angel rubs water from his chin. "It was a lot of fun, it's been so long since I was able to fly at all. I don't think anyone spotted me either, so that's good."

Mystique nods. "We may need to rest a while before getting closer to D.C. It'll need to be dark so you can fly in without raising attention.” She blinks and then laughs. "I was about to write down the address of Shadowcat's building, but there'd be no way for you to use that up there, huh?"

"Pfft. Good catch. Maybe we can get him a GPS or one of those fancy phones?"

"Maybe, but we don't really have the resources for that right now." She says wryly. "You may just have to pile into the car and deal with it when we get close to the city. It'll be hard for you to keep track of us from overhead."

"Aw, gotcha." Angel nods.

"So, does she know we're coming?"

Mystique shakes her head as she heads back to the car. "No, we weren't able to get a hold of her, which makes me worried. We'll have to be on our guards."

After some rest, the team heads south and enters Maryland, where Angel hops in the car and squishes in with Arctic, much to the other boy's dismay. They head into DC, which seems pretty quiet at the moment... Not too much traffic and the sidewalks are empty at this hour. "Here we are..." Mystique murmurs as she pulls the car up beside a 10-story brick and mortar. "This is the place. She's in an office on the 6th floor."

She turns the car off and glances at you. "Any thoughts before we head up?"

“We’ll need someone to cover our exit. That should be habit now, I think,” you survey Mystique, then Arctic, then Angel. “I say we keep the kid down here. If you see anyone suspicious coming or going, signal us by dropping the temperature or something. What do you think?”

"I was thinking we have Angel go to the roof and keep an eye out, personally. Maybe keep the two together also. They're still just kids." She folds her arms.

"Hey! I resemble that remark!" Arctic interjects.

“Let’s go with that then. You’ve got the expertise,” Technically, so did you, but you couldn’t quite recall all of your expertise and thus didn’t count it. “Think you two can handle that?” You flick Arctic again. It amuses you.

"Owch! Yeah we got this!" He steps out, not noticing Angel looming over him. The winged mutant grabs his friend and vanishes into the sky, Arctic's panicked "Wait not yeeeeeeeeet" barely audible.

"Mm." Mystique looks up as she steps out of the car. "They're eager. Well, come on then, tall, dark, and gruesome." She walks into the building, leading you in. There's a small lobby with a letterboard listing the different companies located there. "Hmm... Yep, Pryde Investigations." She taps the one she wants. "Suite 612." She walks towards the elevators and presses the call button. "Shadowcat used her deadname, naturally, and used a licensed private investigator company as a cover for her business."

The elevator doors open when a ding, allowing the two of you to step inside. You hadn't even noticed that Mystique shapeshifted to appear as a middle-aged man with thick glasses.

"If anyone is watching the building, they may think we have more numbers than it seems if I shapeshift a couple times." She explains.

“Nice,” you reply admiringly. “Deadname. What’s that?”

"It's your human name, what you were born with. Charles is the only one of us who regularly used his, Magneto insists we all use ours. My mother didn't name me Mystique, you know. Some just use them interchangeably."

You tilt your head, considering. “What was your human name? If you don’t mind me asking.”

"…Raven Darkholme," She responds quietly as the doors open. They walk through the halls, finding Shadowcat's office pretty quickly. "Door’s locked…" she mumbles, fishing through her pockets for a lockpick that isn't there, because she forgets that her pockets aren't really pockets but just pouches in her flesh.

“Here,” you slide out a claw, then snap off the end with a sharp gasp. “Try this?”

"Hm," she takes the claw and extends one of her own nails, inserting them into the lock and jiggling them until the lock comes undone. "Do... you need this back?" She asks, holding up the broken claw.

“Nah, it’ll grow back. Like fingernails.”

"…Oh," she nods with a slightly repulsed face, opening the door. Entering the office, you find that it has been ransacked in a manner that was fairly unsurprising. Papers were strewn across the floor, the desk over turned, shelves left open... Mystique looks around grimly. "No blood. No broken glass. No signs of a struggle."

You immediately find yourself on the defensive. “Well. What’s next for us?”

"I suspect we're going to find out soon," she taps her communicator. "Boys, stay frosty. Shadowcat's office has been ransacked, so we may be in trouble soon."

As you search the office, you can't help but get the niggling feeling that something doesn't quite add up. The smells were the weird part...while they were varied, there was nothing that suggested a particular menagerie of people... And when you poked your head into the bathroom, there looked to be two odd boot-like things placed neatly behind the toilet.

You pick up the boots and examine them curiously. “Any idea what these are?”

They're oddly narrow at the ankle, and there's a sophisticated hinge between the foot and the calf. They weren't shoes...prosthetics? Mystique comes over, blinks, and looks around. "She's still here," she sighs, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Shadowcat! It's Mystique!"

There's silence in response.

"..." Mystique looks around, and then turns towards you. "Yeah, that makes sense. She probably knows you by reputation and thinks we're here to murder her."

“Oh. Uh...” you look around warily. “I can...leave? If that helps.”

"No, we just need to..." She shapeshifts back to blue. "This is James...I know you've probably been hearing a lot of weird stuff but...he’s on our side now. Promise."

A girl in her late twenties pokes her head out of the ceiling above you. "Geez, Raven, you really know how to scare a girl half to death!"

She points a finger in your face. "You! Scruffy! Give me my legs back!"

She makes gimme hands at you as she hangs from the ceiling.

You blink, tilting your head one way and then the other. “....Scruffy?” You mutter to yourself, handing Shadowcat her legs back.

She phases out of the ceiling, falling into Mystique's waiting arms and deftly fixing the prosthetics to her lower legs, hopping down to the floor. "Yeah, you heard me," she says sniffily. "You look like a razor grievously insulted your mother and you took a vow against shaving as a result."

"So,” Shadowcat turns on Mystique. “Could someone politely tell me what the crap is going on, Myssy? I've had people looking for me all week. I'd be feeling popular if they weren't also packing more heat than an NRA convention in Dallas."

"It's a long story," Mystique replies quietly. "We need to get you to safety, though. We're on a mission to get you, Anna, and Kurt back to base before SHIELD finds you."

Shadowcat frowns. "I thought I was done with your war, Mystique. On account of my shortcomings." She wiggles one prosthetic. "That's a joke because I lost more than a few inches in the accident."

Mystique sighs, kneading her forehead. "Yes, I get it. And while you might not be ready for combat, that doesn't mean our enemies are going to let you go safely. So... Please. Come with us."

Shadowcat looks skeptical but then your radio crackles. "Guys?" Angel's voice comes through. "We've got company. Look out the window."

You hurry to the window, carefully peeking out in case there are marksmen ready to take your head off.

Below, you see several federal agents armed with laser pistols approaching the building, flanked by sentinels. "They must have had the building under some close surveillance," Mystique murmurs, glancing out the window.

"THEY'RE NOT THE ONLY ONES!" Angel and Arctic suddenly swoop by the window, prompting gunfire from below as they soar out down one of the streets. "SOMEBODY JUST TELEPORTED ONTO THE ROOF WITH A BUNCH OF ARMED GUYS!"

"We're caught in a pincer." Mystique hisses.

“Teleporters? That means...” you pause, frowning. “They’ve got mutant muscle. Tell the kids to get the hell out of dodge and stay back - this just got too dangerous for them!”

“Mystique!” You turn on her. “Could you impersonate one of those feds down there and meet the roof party? They can add you to the ranks, then I’ll come charging in and you can give them a surprise.” You brandish your laser pistol. “Make a pincer of our own, have Angel fly us out of here one at a time.”

"I can try, but that might not take." She replies grimly. "Depends on how well trained they are." She holds her hand out. "Give me that laser pistol."

"And I'll be taking cover, I suppose." Shadowcat mumbles, walking towards her bathroom.

You pop your claws and move into the hall, examining your surroundings. Jamming a claw into one of the locked doors to brutalize the lock, you duck inside and close it, waiting for your moment to jump into the middle of the approaching party and start swinging.

“ABORT! ABORT! THEY ARE NOT PART OF THE SAME GROUP,” Mystique yells through the radio, amidt a cacophony of cracks and pops.

“Oh shit,” you curse, radioing her to take cover and wait for the two groups to intercept each other. Maybe you three can slip away in the confusion - at the very least they’ll thin the ranks.

Mystique retreats down the hallway, returning fire at the new group.

"What's the plan now?" Shadowcat asks sarcastically from her room as gunfire zips down the hallway. Mystique presses herself into a doorway, firing back with the laser pistol at the group from the ceiling... They were dressed in trench coats with fedoras, protectively guarding a beautiful blond woman with blue and green highlights in her hair. The men were armed with submachine guns and heavy pistols.

"Oh shit," Shadowcat murmurs. "It's them."

"Explain!" You bark.

"That's... Uh... The Hellfire Club," she explains sheepishly. "They're sort of clients, sort of rivals, sort of competitors? And also they probably want me dead now because if I'm captured, they'll be outed too.”

She nods toward the blue-and-green-haired woman. “She's Lourdes Chantel, the wife of the Black King."

"What are her powers? Teleporting, I take it?"

"Teleporting, yeah." Shadowcat nods. Down the hall, a door bursts open with sentinels and federal agents streaming in and opening fire.

"HOMELAND SECURITY! ALL OF YO- GODDAMNIT, FIRE AT WILL!" One agent yells angrily as crimson energy beams start streaming from their end of the hall.

"Ah, yep, that's the window," you grin as the two groups open fire on one another. Turning to Mystique, you voice your plan: "Angel, can you and Arctic fly over here and make us an ice-slope to slide down from the window?"

"Shadowcat, I'll need to you phase down to our position. Can you do that?"

"Can do!" Angel and Arctic confirm.

"What about my legs?!" Shadowcat replies.

"Wait for Angel to fly by, then toss them to him! Hear that, boys? Don’t forget the lady’s legs!”

They do as instructed, but from where Shadowcat is at the angle is bad. When the legs are tossed, Arctic fails to catch them, and they fall to shatter on the ground far below. He does manage to create an ice slope though from the window to the ground.

Shadowcat phases over, glowering at you.

"...I'll, uh," you search for words. "Oh! I'll have Magneto make you some new ones. Or I'll buy you some. Somehow," you wince. "Sorry." You pick up Shadowcat easily and wait for Mystique to head down the slope.

Mystique dashes across the hallway and dives through the window, twisting effortlessly and somersaulting to slide down the ice to the ground. "Get to the car!" She shouts.

With Shadowcat in tow, you take your own turn down the slope! When you've landed on your feet, you rush for the get-away vehicle. Lourdes suddenly appears nearby, throwing a grenade in a perfect arc. It bounces and rolls underneath the car! The grenade explodes with a muffled thump, the frame of the vehicle holding together...but the car itself is on fire, and you remember what you were told earlier.

"GET AWAY!" Mystique begins jogging in the opposite direction as Lourdes teleports away.

You run, hoping to outpace the atomic fireball headed your way.

**_ BOOOM _ **

The car explodes violently behind you, the heat burning the back of your neck as you carry Shadowcat. You follow along behind Mystique, the boys flying by overhead as the sound of gunfire emanates from the building still.

"God damn it," Mystique growls, changing out the energy cells in the pistol. "I _liked_ that car. Shadowcat, where do we go from here?"

Shadowcat thinks for a moment. "We...we could try to parlay with the Hellfire Club. With their resources we could get out of the city in one piece, but it might be difficult, since they came to kill me and all."

"What's the alternative?"

"..." She is silent. "Getting caught by the feds?"

Well, that settled it, then. "How do we get their attention? Don't suppose anyone has a white flag to wave?"

Lourdes teleports in front of them with two Hellfire foot soldiers. "WHOA! LOURDES!" Shadowcat yells at the top of her lungs, accidentally smacking you in the face as she puts her hands up. "CALM YOUR TITS!"

"I-" the woman blinks. "What?"

"We surrender,” the phase-shifter replies. “Take us to the Hellfire Club and you can do whatever you want with us, better with those mutant-killers back there. But maybe we can work out some sort of deal."

Mystique mutters quietly to herself as Arctic and Angel land behind them, looking around in confusion.

"Yeah, we aren't spoiling for a fight,” you agree. “If you agree to hear us out, we'll go quietly with you. Then the feds don't get our girl, which means you accomplished what you came here for. How 'bout it?"

"..." Lourdes is quite for a moment. "Drop your weapons." She commands in a thickly layered French accent. Mystique drops the laser pistol, which is quickly collected up by a Hellfire man.

Lourdes steps forward, and in a blinding flash of light...

[You and the rest of the X-Force team are teleported to a dark room with a single bright light overhead.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vD-OfjOg13M) Your eyes struggle to adjust after the flash of light, and you blink away spots in your vision. The group huddles close together back-to-back, wary of what is out in the darkness. Some music is playing in the distance, like there's a club in a nearby room.

"What's all of this now, Ms. Chantel?" A voice says in the darkness. "This was supposed to be an assassination mission, not an invitation."

"..." Lourdes is quiet. "I decided, Warren, that they might have something useful to us."

Angel blinks suddenly, taking a step forward. "Wait... Warren...?"

There's silence in the darkness... And a grey-haired man in a power suit steps into the light. "...Son?"

Angel looks alarmed, the feathers on his wings ruffling up in shock. " _Dad?"_

Wait - 'dad'? You glance at Angel in surprise. "Your dad's the boss of this club?"

"Not the boss...just a key member," Warren Worthington Jr. replies. "Now, son, would you mind telling me what in the goddamn hell you're doing with these... _people_?"

Angel is silent, and you see years of rebellion and frustration bubbling under the surface.

"It's been six years, son." Warren says quietly. "Where have you _been_?"

"Warren, right," you quickly interject, putting yourself between Angel and his father. "Look, uh, maybe you two could have this talk in private, later. Don't mean to tell you your business, but we are still all figuring out if this is an assassination or an invite, yeah?"

"...Right," he acknowledges quietly. "We need to have a...discussion. About that." He glares at Lourdes. "Until then, you will wait in the Roosevelt suite." He nods to two guards, who flank the group.

You're all shuffled off to another room in a dizzying maze underground. Even with your enhanced senses, you were having a hard time remaining oriented. The Roosevelt room is a small suite with couches, and a cabinet full of liquor.

"Put me down on a couch," Shadowcat grunts. "And get me a belt of scotch."

"...Soooo, your dad is in the Skull and Crossbones club?" Arctic says to Angel.

You shoot a warning glare at Arctic. "Not the time, kid."

You gently set down Shadowcat and commence with the scotch-retrieval, pouring yourself a glass while you're at it. Not like you had to worry about your senses being dulled. "So. What's the over-under on them deciding to kill us anyway?"

Mystique is rubbing her temples. "I've not dealt with the Hellfire Club much at all. I'm not sure how their internal politics works."

Shadowcat clears her throat. "Lourdes has clout with the inner circle.... Because they're all mutants. Warren is a big member and a key investor, but he isn't inner circle. He'll have to really swing his dick around to make them absolutely kill us when they have something to gain."

"...Sorry, kid." She clears her throat, glancing at Angel.

"Alright, so focus on swaying Lourdes and the others. Keep Warren at least neutral if we can," you run down a mental checklist. "Tell me about this place. What do they do, what do they want? Are they like X-Force or Morlock City?"

"Not even a little," the shifter shakes her head. "The Hellfire Club are a group of secretive mutants who use their powers to influence international politics and business. They have no real stake in mutant rights issues, preferring to line their own pockets. They're ruled by a council of ten... The Black King, Queen, Bishop, Knight, and Rook, and the White set as well. They have chapters all over the world that collect the rich and powerful as members and investors, offering their services to members in exchange for money, secrets, and power."

"So they're Illuminati-wannabes. Great. Alright, what can we trade to get them off our backs? Intel?"

"Information," Shadowcat replies instantly. "Something that'd make them simply salivate and give them an edge over everyone else."

"I don't suppose you'd be sitting on a few secrets like that, would you?"

"Uhh...nothing that'd be a real trump card, I'm afraid." She shrugs helplessly.

"..." You had one idea. But the thought of trading it soured your tongue, just a little. You grit your teeth – come on, James, this is your only way out. "What about Romulus?" You murmur, just loud enough to be heard.

"... Who the fuck is Romulus?" Shadowcat replies, raising an eyebrow.

Mystique blinks in surprise. "Are...you sure?"

You fold your arms tiredly, a throbbing tension coiled within your chest. "I..." you hesitate, shoulders sagging. "It's all we've got. And these people can run interference with his plans better than we can right now. It could buy us time."

"Again, who the fuck is Romulus?" Shadowcat says.

By your defeated posture it is painfully clear to everyone involved that you are not happy at having to sell out your own kin, even knowing your grandfather could more than likely handle anything that came his way.

"He's my grandfather. Head of Rubicon Incorporated,” you sigh. “And he's trying to start World War III."

"...O-oh," Shadowcat blinks. "Yeah, that might do it. Do you have any way they could easily verify your information?"

"Uh..." you wrack your brain. "I'm not sure. Damn it, we need evidence to back this up or it'll smell like bullshit." You growl, vexed. "I've got nothing."

Angel thinks about it. "... You said he's the head of Rubicon Incorporated. So that means there's a paper trail, something that proves he exists. A company photo... Or something. People are aware he's alive even if the public record says otherwise."

"He goes by Charles Rubicon. Could..." you pause. "Angel. Could someone with your father's connections prove my grandfather exists?"

"..." He nods slowly. "I think so. If we point them in the right direction and make them understand it's worth their time to look."

"Then we run with this plan. It's..." you sigh again. "The best we have."

"Until then, we're going to have to wait until they're even ready to make terms... And they'll probably keep us here until the information we give them can be verified." Angel says with the confidence of someone who grew up under the shadow of his father.

“Alright.” You grunt softly, finding a corner and sitting with your back against it. You clench your fists and try to keep in the scream of frustration perched on your tongue. In all your years of living, you do not believe you’d ever sold out your own family to save your skin. Not once. Never.

Until now.

You’d betrayed them. All of them. The damning truth rings in your ears. What kind of man did that make you? Less than a man. Less than an animal, even. A fetid little weasel.

"Sometimes your family is what you choose it to be." Charles said, sitting next to you and staring at the other wall.

You shake your head mournfully. “Family just is,” you reply silently. “Ain’t no say in it.”

"My half-brother tried to kill me several times," Charles remarks quietly. "I think we have that in common, James. I understand your frustration...but this is not betraying your family. This is having an opportunity to prevent your grandfather from destroying the world. You are saving your family from him. The methods are not the best... But we don't get to choose the best methods to do the things that are necessary or right."

Charles exhales. "Sometimes all you have is a mad Jewish bastard hellbent on destroying most of the world because of what happened to him as a child. Erik would break my jaw if he heard me talking like that, but we used to have such spectacular fights when we were young and I called him that once." He chuckles.

You smile despite your ill mood. “What did he call you back?”

"A milquetoast, pampered English cunt." Charles laughs.

You snigger, though to the rest of the world it must seem as though you’ve gone slightly insane. “Well. Maybe you were both right. But...when it came down to the crunch, you laid down on the wire. And Magneto...he’s better than you say he was. He changed. Would the man you knew have let me live, if it were twenty years ago?”

"No, he would have pulled that adamantium out through your pisshole," Charles cackles. "Ahh... maybe Erik _has_ changed. Sometimes you get used to a person being the way you always knew them."

“Just takes time. Right?” You feel new resolve building within you. If Magneto could change...if Charles could change... if you could change...

Then your family could, too. You could show them a better way. And sometimes you had to do what was best for them, whether they liked it or not.

“Thanks, Chuck,” you murmur.

Charles doesn't respond, having vanished from sight.

Mystique is staring at you intensely, trying to figure out what is going on.

You consider telling her the story - that some part of Charles had been left behind inside you. That her old friend was, in a way, still alive and watching over the group he’d helped to form. Would it be a comfort or a burden, knowing that? Would it make healing easier or harder knowing a ghost of a loved one lingered on?

You don’t know. But you do know that whatever he was to you, Charles meant more to Mystique and to Magneto. If you’d shared with the latter, a little, then it was only fair to tell her too.

“Having a chat,” you mouth the words by way of explanation. You tap two fingers to your temple. Then you make an ‘X’ with your fingers.

She opens her mouth... And then closes it. What could she say? As time passes, Shadowcat gets a little more progressively drunk, loudly complaining about how two dumb assholes broke her one good pair of legs. You might have thought about cutting her off, but Mystique would stop you. She thinks Shadowcat needs to unwind and let off some frustration if she was going to go with you.

After hours of waiting...the door opened and a man stepped through, smiling politely. He was wearing a black mask and hood that obscured the rest of his face.

"Hello there. I am the Black King."

**_ XxXxX _ **

X-Force is silent for a moment after the leader of the Hellfire Club makes his proclamation. He fiddles with a ring on his finger, smiling pleasantly. "It's fun to make dramatic entrances. Obviously, you cannot know my real name, as that is incredibly confidential, but welcome to the Club. I apologize for the rude welcome, but it appears things are not as they seem... Ms. Chantel is very close to our inner circle, but we elite members of the Club value our secrecy quite dearly, as you can imagine."

He glances at Kitty. "Which is why she didn't know she was sent to assassinate the Black Knight on the orders of non-titled members who coveted the position of leader of this branch and a titled member of the inner circle."

Shadowcat flushes, realizing she's been outed as a member of the Hellfire Club. "I...was not aware that Warren had figured out the Black Knight was me. That does explain why they wanted me out of the way...they could have me assassinated and call it a government hit."

The Black King nods. "Indeed. Thankfully, Lourdes knows we value mutants more than we value rich investors around here, so her instincts of using you for a greater purpose were...on point."

“Oh _damn_ it,” you mutter to yourself. You should’ve known that the spymaster would of course have a secret that would’ve been good to know beforehand. Now things were beginning to click into place. “Well,” you speak up, drawing attention to yourself. “Mister...King. What purpose, exactly, did you have in mind?”

"That's a good question," he praises, while the rest of X-Force regards Shadowcat suspiciously. "Naturally that whole 'give the Hellfire Club a piece of information' thing is unnecessary, as we had this room bugged and you've already given it to us, but I'm sure the Black Knight already knew that. It's very interesting information, so thank you. I am in a bit of an awkward situation, though..."

He flops down on a couch, sighing. "Officially, the Hellfire Club's elite inner circle is total mystery, even to our highest-ranking members. We don't really like advertising we're a mutant-run organization, for obvious reasons. Warren in particular has a grudge against mutants, so I'm sure he was delighted to see Ms. Pryde killed so he could jockey for her position, one he'd never get anyhow because unlike his very talented son...he isn't a mutant. But the moment he does figure that out, we will lose a wealthy investor, most likely, and we will probably lose more with him."

The Black King massages his brow. "So I'm going to answer your question with another question,” he leans forward towards Angel. "...How old are you?"

Angel hesitates, glancing at you and Mystique. "M-me?" He asks. "A-almost eighteen."

The Black King nods. "Hmm...not quite the age we'd like, but what can you do. I'm going to kill your father, and I want for you to take his place as a figurehead of his company. Naturally you'll let us handle the running of it as a permanent source of income for the Hellfire Club, and you get to keep doing whatever it is you're doing. You give us the legal access we need after your father is dead and we'll let you all go."

Your eyes widen, threatening to burst from your skull. “You... _what_ ,” you turn on Shadowcat. “Did you know about this?!”

Shadowcat puts her hands up defensively, "Listen, I might be an asshole liar who does it for a living but I wouldn't sign off on this, I had no idea!”

You turn back to the Black King. “There has to be something else you want. We can get it for you. Anything,” you beseech. “Just don’t ask this kid to sign off on his dad dying. For fuck’s sake _.”_

Shadowcat quickly agrees. "He's right, there has to be another way, King! Warren is the black sheep of the family anyhow, he hasn't been seen by the public in years. There's no way he'll be seen as a legitimate successor now."

He glances at her with an annoyed expression. "Perhaps you should have considered that before you allowed your identity to be leaked to your enemies, Pryde. We are in a precarious position and it only grows more precarious every minute we sit here talking about it," he points a finger at Angel. "How long do you think his father will sit around waiting? How long before he realizes that he's not getting what he wants, and he's not getting his son back under his control? How long before we have a Sentinel squad on our doorsteps here and in New York and Los Angeles?"

“Is there a way we could ensure Warren’s retirement without offing him,” you suggest. “Blackmail, pressure, something? Make it so he has no choice but to step down.”

Mystique speaks up, finding her voice. "If he's so anti-mutant, we could blackmail him with taking information about Angel public. He'd..." She shuts her mouth, realizing what she was saying. Angel looks at the ground, his wings slowly slanting behind his back as his expression drops. "I- I'm sorry, Angel, I sh-shouldn't have..."

Arctic clenches his fist, staring at the Black King with an intensity you hadn't seen in the young mutant. Something inside him was on the verge of snapping, visible only in his eyes and the set of his shoulders.

There was a moment of clarity for you, as you realized that this moment would determine the futures of the Hellfire Club and X-Force. Shadowcat and Mystique were on their feet, trying to find a way out like you, Angel was staring at his feet, and Arctic was about to explode. The Black King seemed...completely unperturbed. This was just business to him. They had already given away their card of trading their freedom for information, and Shadowcat had let that happen.

“We have a shapeshifter,” you begin slowly. “Warren is here now. Say we put him on lockdown. Hellfire Club VIP for an indefinite period. Mystique impersonates him, signs the company over to Angel. He signs it over to you. Wait long enough that the deal couldn’t be undone, then let him go - he’ll be toothless and no threat to your group or ours. But alive.”

Mystique nods frantically. "I'll do it. Don't make Angel sign his father's death warrant, please. We don't want this to end with bloodshed."

The Black King thinks about this. "You do realize that we could never let Warren leave in that situation anyhow. He already knows too much." He shakes his head, sighing. "No, you're just not able to change my mind so easily. Warren is a threat, but we don't want to see his resources disappear with him-"

"Let me talk to him." Angel says quietly.

The boy looks up, staring at the Black King through golden bangs. "Please. Before I make a decision...let me talk to my father."

The Black King stares at Angel for a long moment before standing and gesturing to the door. "After you, young man."

You catch Angel by the arm, holding him loosely. “Kid...you sure this is what you want?”

Angel glances back at you emotionlessly. "It is." He says quietly, pulling his arm from your grasp and following the Black King out the door. The room is silent for several moments, everyone processing.

It all sets in.

"WHAT THE _FUCK_ WERE YOU THINKING?!" Mystique roars, bitch-slapping Kitty across the face with the back of her hand. The phase-shifter falls to the floor, grabbing her face as Mystique grinds her heel into the woman's neck. "WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU SIGN UP WITH THIS SCUM?!"

Kitty stares up at the older mutant with frustrated and hurt eyes. "I had to do something after I lost my legs fighting for your _goddamn_ cause,” she begins lowly, her voice steadily rising until she is shouting nearly as loud as her attacker. "For years you trained me to be a soldier, and then when I was no longer of use you benched me and told me to sit on my hands! _Fuck you!_ No one who went through what I did would have stayed sane!" She glares at Arctic. "GET A GOOD FUCKING LOOK, KID! THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO ALL FORMER SOLDIERS OF X-FORCE!"

“Mystique, back it off!” You bark, attempting to pull her off. Internally you are seething, but part of you still chafes at beating someone with no legs.

"ZIP IT, WOLVERINE!" Mystique turns on you just as quickly. "Before you forget that you don’t actually call any shots here! You don’t have authority, I don’t care _what_ is in your head! You’re here because Magneto for whatever reason decided to let you stay _alive_!"

"But while we’re on the field, you listen to _me_ ," She jabs a thumb into her chest, absolutely incensed. Her voice rises once more. "ME, THE PERSON WHO LIVED WITH CHARLES HER ENTIRE LIFE AND BY GOD SHOULD BE THE ONE WHO KNOWS IS AND IS NOT BEST FOR MY TEAM. AND RIGHT NOW SOMEONE NEEDS TO REALIZE SHE MADE A _BIG FUCKING ERROR."_

“Then _you_ tell _me_ , what is Xavier about beating someone who can’t fight back?” You reply coolly. “You’re right - I am alive. And I have a voice, which I’m damn sure gonna use until it stops working! Because this - “ you gesture sharply to the scene before you. “Know what this approach got you? A hole under the ground, no water, a dying team, and a dead leader.”

You step forward, right into her face so you can match her snarl with one of your own. “So if you want to be the fucking leader of this team, then why don’t you turn your blue ass around and start leading these people somewhere other than to dead friends and empty apartments with _fake fucking legs?_ ”

Mystique stares at you open-mouthed, her hands reflexively clenching and unclenching as she figures out whether or not she's going to break your jaw...but she's interrupted as you both realize the temperature in the room has dropped to ice cold, glancing over at Arctic... The kid's skin was turning blue, and his shoulders were shaking as he tried not to cry. She glances back at you before stepping off of Shadowcat and walking over to the boy, grabbing his shoulder and hesitantly pulling him into a hug.

Shadowcat rubs her neck, glancing up at you. "I've been in the business long enough to know that doesn't make us friends," she grunts quietly, crawling back onto the couch. "But...thanks. You didn't have to do that." She settles back, sighing. "I... I've gotten us into a bad situation, and I should have been more upfront about it. I'm sorry. I’m sorry...for what I just did. For making you reveal that information," she closes her eyes. "I know it's a dick move and you're angry, but I had a plan. I just...maybe thought there was a way out of this where I kept my position."

The young woman looks at her hands. "I've been the Black Knight for years. I got used to it. I liked it. I was...good at it. After fighting someone else's war, it was nice. To do something for me. I felt alive for the first time after losing my legs."

You inhale and exhale. Once. Twice. Unclench your teeth and pull back down the lips that had been peeling up into a sneer. Swallowing, you attempt a shrug. “You’re not the first person who ever lost their purpose. I get it.”

You watch Arctic with an ugly feeling in your belly, the emotion that could only come from seeing the most vibrant, light part of your group reduced to broken tears. And it was your fault as much as anyone else’s in this room. If you could’ve found a way - a way that didn’t leave Angel where he was now. A way that didn’t put Shadowcat between the Hellfire Club and X-Force.

If only. But the moment has passed. You’d let it slip by. Sighing, you tentatively approach Arctic, breath fogging more thickly the closer you get. “I’m sorry,” you say - to both him and Mystique.

She has her lips pressed to the boy’s hair as he cries into her chest, clutching her tightly. She shakes her head softly, obviously stating this wasn't the time for words. Arctic doesn't say anything... Can't, say anything. He's barely consolable, and you realize that after all, he is only a boy.

Charles Xavier was a great man who preached pacifism and nonviolence. Easy for someone who turned other people into the weapons of his will, fighting the battles he couldn't...Or wouldn't. In some ways, it made you think of a shadowy figure from your past...another chess master who created warriors to fight battles for him. But there was one key difference you would grant. When the chips were down, Charles Xavier had died to save his kids.

You knew that Stryker was still out there, and wouldn't stop hunting you until you found him first.

And some day, you _would_ find that slimy prick. You’d find him in the worst of ways, and you’d repay every tear he had ever caused to be shed - the tears you were seeing now - and then some. But that was just a dream. Here, now, there was only one thing you could do.

You wait.

"Angel's gonna have to let his dad die, isn't he." Arctic mumbles after a while, pulling away.

Mystique hesitates, glancing at you.

“....” you look away. “I don’t know if there’s any other way.”

"We're... we're gonna do everything in our power to keep that from happening," Mystique murmurs. "We would _never_ ask that of any of you boys. It's wrong. The Black King shouldn't have done that."

"I... I want to think that Angel's dad is an evil mutant-hating asshole and deserves it, but I can't," Arctic rasps, looking at the ground. "I can't."

“It’s not on you, son. Or Angel. Neither of you asked for this. This is...old men, playing games. Whatever happens is on them.”

It's been a while... And the door opens slowly, Angel walking in.

["We're free to go. They'll provide transportation and get us out of the city."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RSdo4idlRGI) He says tonelessly, looking between them. "...I'd like to leave as quickly as possible, please."

"Ang-" Mystique begins to say, but the boy raises a hand sharply, cutting her off.

"Not tonight. Maybe not ever," he rebukes coldly, his hand shaking just a little. "Just... Don't."

You regard the boy, now forced to be a man before his time. Aged too quickly, forced to break his own heart in two for a cause bigger than he could’ve really grasped. For a price too high to be paid. You nod once. “We’ll never forget this,” you reply with absolute conviction.

Lourdes steps into the room and with little drama teleports them outside of the city, where they find a car parked nearby. Lourdes hands you the keys and a card, grabbing your hand. "I'm...sorry. For the boy. The Black King..."

She closes her eyes. "I know you think he's a monster, but he's... my..." she swallows. "This card." Looking down at it, you see a phone number and a radio frequency. "If you ever need out of a scrape...call me. No strings attached."

You accept the gift with solemn silence, not trusting yourself to speak diplomatically in this moment. You pocket the card and clamber into the vehicle.

Together, X-Force moves on to their next destination...Tennessee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shadowcat is definitely Ellen Page in our hearts and minds, and her voice was written with that in mind. Physically, someone needed to embody the consequences of fighting a war and what happens when you’ve been raised to fight only to discover you’re no longer useful to the people that shaped you. An actor who can no longer remember lines. A sprinter who can’t walk. A painter gone blind. A composer gone deaf - and you’re no Beethoven. It’s not just painful - it’s catastrophic in a way most people could never recover from, much less fight back against or reclaim an identity from. Kitty didn’t just survive - she found a way to thrive and take back her dignity, although as demonstrated she hasn’t emotionally been granted the catharsis she needs to truly ascend past that trauma.
> 
> For visualization purposes, we’re talking seasoned grown-woman Ellen Page (such as Days of Future Past) rather than X3 Ellen Page. But far darker, internally, and as shall be seen eventually - scarier. That’s what happens when you introduce your co-author to Hard Candy as a fun film night choice but also to show off how goddamn terrifying Ellen Page can be. Just as planned.
> 
> The influence between player and storyteller often is more two-way than you might expect.


	10. A Beautiful Mind

Awaken the Wolverine

Chapter X: A Beautiful Mind

 

[The radio crackles as a jaunty folk tune plays, strongly at odds with the mood of the X-Force team](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KChbUnsENfg). They were parked amongst some pine trees along some highway in Tennessee, taking some time to rest and get some space from each other. Shadowcat sat in the car, quietly watching the road while Angel tended to his wings tiredly. The boy had been quiet since their ill-fated rescue mission in D.C., weighed down by the choices he'd had to make, choosing their wellbeing over his own health.

Mystique, still stung by your rebuke, sat by a stream and watched birds flit amongst branches on the other side. Arctic was skipping stones, but you could tell he was still sore about the whole ordeal.

The shapeshifter, though...your attention went back to her. You had hit her where she lived, so to speak... And now you were on your way to pick up her daughter, someone directly tied to the bleeding open wound in X-Force’s history where she, her brother, and their mother left the team.

For your part, you'd kept your mouth sealed shut for the long ride into Tennessee, not wishing to break the silence that held a tension you could taste. Moments like this...these could break a team, a unit, an army. Before, it had just been you and Victor - if everything else fell apart, so what. And when you fought, the wounds always sealed back together as if they'd never happened at all.

You'd never had to _care_ before. And now...

You were the newcomer here, and a barely tolerated one at that - as Mystique had bitingly reminded you. You hardly had any place talking to any of these people. Perhaps they wouldn't listen even if you did have something to say. But...that also meant you were the one with the least to lose by trying. And to start, you needed to make amends. You steel yourself and creep down to the stream where the team's shapeshifter rests, feeling less certain of yourself with each step.

You come to a stop beside her, and she doesn't react to your presence visibly or look at you directly. But you can hear her blood pressure rise, smell the shift in her mood. Anxiety, frustration...a heady cocktail that you were familiar with, when an animal was cornered.

"..." She sighs through her nose, glancing up at him briefly.

"Can I sit?" You ask gently.

"..." She looks away. "I'd say it's a free country, but I'm part of a repressed minority. So."

You sit awkwardly, legs crossed. You keep silent for a few seconds, searching for the right words. Perhaps the direct approach was best - it was the only kind of talking you were any good at, anyway. "I was a prick, back there."

"What I said was...unfair. And nasty. And if I ever say anything like it again, you're free to clock me."

Mystique closes her eyes, inhaling deeply. "I'm... I have a way of doing things, James. It's not the best way but I learned a long time ago that there was no best way to do things. There's good ideas and bad ideas but no matter your intentions you're always going to be fucked by life, so...why bother caring?" She mumbles. "I didn't... Pryde doing what she did _hurt_. It was a real, real betrayal. I know she wanted to feel important, but that selfishness... Who knows what damage it could have caused?"

"What damage it _did_ cause," you admit.

She nods slowly. "This wouldn't have been a problem if she had just...retired like we wanted. Her powers were unstable, she cut her own goddamn legs off. It was a fucking _mess_." She pinches the bridge of her nose. "We got her the prosthetics...but."

"She wanted to live a meaningful life," you reply gently. "Whether it was convenient for the team or not. It's selfish, but...what other options did she really have? Imagine if one day you couldn't shapeshift, and the rest of us just...told you to go sit on a bench somewhere and wait to die. She wanted to prove she had worth. Beyond her legs. Beyond her powers."

"Yes and that makes for a great Saturday morning cartoon but again, we're in the real fucking world here, James," Mystique grunts. "We don't get what we want, we do what we have to do. She was a soldier. She understood that, once."

"She _was_ a soldier. Then her company left her behind," you sigh, shrugging. "This life isn't for everyone. You knew that yourself, didn't you? Isn't that why you sent your kids away?"

"....." She glances at you. "We didn't _abandon_ her. We benched her because she lost her legs and needed to recover. I left with my kids because they needed...a different environment. Rogue and Kurt were...if she..." Mystique trips over her words, getting more worked up and angry. "She had _every_ opportunity-

 This...might not be working as you intended.

"Okay," you interrupt. "Let's bench the Pryde talk for now. Like you said, I..." you pause, then shrug. "It doesn't really matter what I think of it anyway. And you've been fighting this fight longer than I have, so. Maybe I'm not seeing the whole picture."

You inhale slowly. "So...Rogue and Kurt, huh? Who came first?"

Mystique is still on edge, not really buying that it's been benched. "...Rogue. She was about three when Kurt was born," she explains distantly. "They were both pretty young when their mutations manifested too."

"Do they take after their parents? I know genes can be...weird, when it comes to mutant kids."

"Kurt is blue, if that's what you're asking. Rogue looks a little like her dad, but uh... She has some of my figure." She says, glancing away.

"Oh. Good for them," you reply with all sincerity. "I meant, do they have the same mutations? 'Cause now I'm imagining a little baby Magneto lifting cars in a tantrum. Or a miniature you shapeshifting into their sibling."

"...Kurt can teleport. Which was absolutely nerve-wracking the first time it happened," Mystique explains, fingers digging through the ground. "Rogue...has other issues."

Hmm. You're not a psychic – though you do have one lounging in your head – but you're pretty sure those 'other issues' are something you shouldn't ask about. You get the sense you'll find out soon, anyway.

You nod affirmingly and sit up, stretching. "...This is a nice spot, by the way," you turn and head back for the car. "I can see why you picked it."

Mystique gets up and dusts pine needles from her rear. "We've stopped here before on trips to visit her. It's quiet and out of the way."

**_ XxXxX _ **

[A dusty plume follows the car as it travels across a long gravel road called Oak Hill Airfield Street.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qn06oTdq3Yc) It was flanked by two tall ridges, creating a deep valley that broadened out onto a plain surrounded by trees... It had obviously been cleared out to make room for the long strip of grey tarmac dominating the center of the plain, accompanied by two hangars and a small control tower. The place seemed to be a ghost town, with two small planes sitting out in the tarmac and covered with rust.

In front of the control tower and office was a motorcycle and what appeared to be a mildly refurbished hot rod. The hangars were closed up, making it hard to tell what exactly could be inside them.

Mystique pumped the breaks as they approached the office, looking around quietly. Angel landed nearby, shaking off his wings before folding them neatly behind his back. You stepped out of the car, surveying your surroundings... The strong breeze and the sizzling tarmac made it difficult to smell anything other than old sludge. A flag clinked on its pole, drifting aimlessly with the wind.

"...This is where Rogue lives?" Arctic murmurs to himself. "It’s kind of a dump."

Mystique gives him a caustic glare while Shadowcat quietly waits in the back of the car. The blue mutant steps out of the car as well, closing the door behind her. She inhales softly, tentatively. You can smell the electricity anxiety. "Annie?" She calls out.

There's no answer.

"Annie?" She says louder.

Spotting the motorcycle, you point to the office and control tower. “Maybe she’s in there?”

Internally you’re wondering what anyone would be doing staying in an abandoned area like this, but you suspect there’s a good reason hiding beneath the surface. Perhaps the kid’s powers were dangerous or unpredictable in some way, making isolation necessary.

"I'll scout the perimeter, just to be sure." Angel leaps into the air, his wings carrying him aloft.

"James, you take the office. I'll check the hangars. Arctic, stay with Shadowcat." Mystique says.

“Mm,” you reply as assent, beginning your trot over to the office. You pause to examine the motorcycle, checking out the parts and frame curiously. It's a custom job, you can tell. Different parts brought together and hand-machined to fit into place perfectly. A lot of effort went into building this bike. Going into the office, you smell the strong scent of cheap whiskey. A radio crackles in the corner while a ceiling fan vainly keeps the temperature down.

A woman is in the corner of the room, a ball cap placed on her face to help keep out the light as she sleeps. She has a coffee mug in her closed hands and her feet are kicked up on a pile of junk. She wore white sneakers marked with black tar, worn blue jeans that had seen so much use they looked almost like a cloudy blue sky – white puffs against light blue denim. She wore a flannel shirt over a tank top, with a leather jacket over the back of her chair. Finally, her cherry-red hair was tied back in a ponytail.

The woman snored long and loud, snoozing away a bender with...three…five… Well she couldn't have drunk this much liquor, she'd be dead, but it seemed obvious that she was well acquainted with the ways of a boozehound.

 _"-The Mutation Interdiction Taskforce, a newly minted office in the Justice Department, has stated they have detained over 200 mutants since the Triskelion attack in New York which claimed so many lives. This follows after Vice President Haverford's address in Oklahoma, where he honored those who had died in the 1995 attack, another moment of mutant terrorism."_ The radio conveys.

Over two-hundred…christ. Two-hundred people’s freedom traded for Alex Summers’. You recall your words to Magneto - “The war was already going on.” You’re a little less certain now than you were then.

Given Shadowcat’s reaction when you came traipsing into her apartment with Mystique, you opt against waking the sleeping woman and step out of the office to call the others to your location. “Hey! Think I found her.”

"...Nice, dude." Arctic replies from the car. "Uh... I'll go tell Mystique?" He glances at one of the hangars she disappeared into. 

“Atta boy.”

Arctic nods and jogs over, leaving you with Shadowcat. She glances at you tiredly, not sure where she stands with you now.

“You’ve been sitting in the car all day. Want to get some air?”

She nods mutely.

You lean inside the car and scoop her up easily, prodding the door shut. “So, you know this girl?”

"Y-yeah. Rogue taught me hand-to-hand combat back in the day," Shadowcat mentions. "Nightcrawler taught stealth and evasion. Rogue was...not exactly one for stealth. Didn't suit her at all, so she was the heavy hitter. Makes sense, because she was the strongest front-line fighter we had, except for maybe Alex."

You can’t help but think she must be a tough one if she really chugged down all that booze. And without your super metabolism to do the heavy work.

“What’s she like?”

"...I'm not sure I should say. She's...complicated. Had to go on leave a lot of times because of...her issues." She says softly. "She has...um...she wasn't always herself, you know what I mean?"

_“They say there’s gonna be a war in… In Korea…” He says with a tinge of boyish hopefulness. “They say… They say they’re fighting… Fighting… War…”_

_You hang your head, feeling an ache grow in back of your skull. “Yes, Victor.”_

_”J-Jimmy…?” His body went suddenly rigid, pulling forward against the chain, the black cloth floating to the ground to reveal bloodshot eyes. His teeth were bared and claws dug deep into the arms of his chair. Any words he might have intended were lost in a feral growl._

“Yeah,” you reply distantly. “I know what you mean.”

After a few moments, Arctic returns with Mystique, his subdued state at war with a palpable boyish excitement. Their commander took point, however, walking around him. "You found my- you found Annie?" She asks.

You point to the office, adjusting Shadowcat to lean on your other side. “She’s sleeping off a bender.”

Mystique sighs, closing her eyes tightly for a moment at the news. "Ok. Arctic, you take Shadowcat. You, come with me." She gestures for you to hand off the girl in your arms and follow Mystique into the office.

You pause a moment, then set Shadowcat on the hood of the car. “Get some sun, eh?” You lurch after Mystique, morbidly curious what kind of ‘personal issues’ the combo child of the blue shapeshifter and Mag-fucking-neto could have. You hope they aren’t the “James gets the crap beaten out of him again” kind.

Arctic blushes slightly as you pass, a little disappointed he didn't get to hold the pretty girl in his arms.

Entering the office, you and Mystique find the woman right where you left her, passed out on the chair with her legs kicked up.

"..." Mystique softens, her shoulders falling as she walks over to her daughter. Perhaps subconsciously, you see her shapeshift slightly to wear clothes. She bends down next to her daughter. "Annie...?" She says softly, shaking the girl's shoulder.

"Mmm...?" Annie wakes up, blinking slowly. "...Ma...? Wh't th' f'ck you doin' here...? Ain'tcha s'pposed to be in...." she squints, turns pale, and you quickly realize she's going to need a trash can imminently.

“Um,” you reach for the closest thing you can find to act as a bucket – which happens to be a motorcycle helmet whoops – and hold it out to her.

Annie clutches it desperately and immediately pukes into the helmet. She blinks, makes a face. "Awww _man_... This was a good helm-ERRK" She pukes into it again while her mom rubs her back. "F-fuck I used to be better at this shit..." She says softly after retching.

"I'm gonna make you some coffee, hon." Mystique says, her voice slipping into an unmistakable country accent. She rises and pats Annie on the shoulder once more before slipping into a back room.

"Hff... Hff..." Annie breathes shallowly. "...Come to gawk at the late, great Rogue?" She asks, raising an eyebrow. "...Why the hell are y'all here... Fuckin'... War goin' on or some shit."

“Hi, late great Rogue. I’m James. And now that you mention it, uh,” you cast a glance at the chattering radio. “War going on, definitely. Think your ma wanted to get you somewhere a little more secure.” You glance sheepishly at her helmet. “Sorry ‘bout that. Quick thinking. You’ve got a real nice bike, though.”

"Thanks. It's my pride and joy since it seems I'm not fit to be an actual parent,” she mumbles, setting the helmet aside. "Not that I'd know I... Don't actually have kids. Whatever ignore me I'm hungover as shit." She swivels in her chair and tries to walk.

“Wait, wait, hold up a second,” you quickly try to head her off. “Maybe take it slow a minute here. You just finished making a bowl of pea soup. Your ma’ll be back soon with some hangover medicine.”

"....Do I look like a high school sophomore handling my first bender, man," Annie mumbles. "I'm just hungover, 'm not dying. Don't need a stranger fussin' over me. I've had to take care of myself for a long time."

Mystique returns with a mug of black coffee, which Annie tentatively sips. "Ahh, that's the shit. Uh... Sorry for you to come by and find me like this, ma, but...Well, y'didn't exactly call ahead, now did ya." She raises an eyebrow. "So what's the occasion?"

Mystique is quiet for a moment. "It's not safe for you to be alone. Your father and-"

Rogue makes a face. "Don't even fucking say it, ma."

She continues anyhow. "Your father and I want you to come back into the fold. For your safety. Not as a soldier."

Rogue looks extremely skeptical. "Not as a soldier. Why do I get the feeling you won't be holdin' yourself to that?"

"...Rogue, Charles is dead," Mystique says softly. "Things are...different now. We're all..." She glances at you. "We're all changing. We just picked up Shadowcat a couple days back. We were coming to get you, then your brother. Things have gotten...wild, out there. To say the least.”

“And maybe you can take care of yourself,” you add. “But we just walked in here and snuck right up on you no problem. Our last pick-up we beat the feds by seconds. Mutants are getting rounded up fast, it’s not a good idea to be out on your own with nobody to watch over your shoulder.”

"..." Annie glances at you, then at her mom. "Who the hell is this?" She asks incredulously.

"..." Mystique is silent for a long moment. "A very...important...ally."

Wow. You’re almost touched.

"He looks like he needs a very important shave." Said the girl who looked like she needed a very important shower and a very important mouthwash.

“I’ll shave my beard if you shave the stink off, hot rod.”

 _"James."_ Mystique hisses.

"Oh, so his name is James? What, was the mutant codename 'Hobo McGee' taken?" Rogue asks.

You think you like this woman.

Mystique sighs. "We don't have all day to be having a discussion about this, you need to come with us, and we're taking the jet to go get your brother. I assume you've been keeping it up to par like you promised?"

Rogue looks pissed about that. "Of course I've kept it up to par! Just becuz everything else around here is turning to shit doesn't mean I'd let the Blackbird fall into disrepair!"

You eyeball Mystique curiously. “...We have a jet?”

"It's an SR-71 Blackbird we ‘acquired’ from the military years ago," Mystique explains.

"My power gives me an aptitude for understanding how things work, so I keep the old bird in tune." Annie taps the side of her head.

“What power is that?”

"I dunno, Charles called it intuitive..." Annie pauses, grabbing the table. "...He's...really dead? He...he called it...he..." she sets the coffee down. "Doesn't matter what he called it. I'm just good with taking things apart and putting them back together. I like it. Keeps us off the front lines."

You blink, looking around curiously. “Us?”

Mystique's breath hitches.

"Ohhhh. Guess no one told’ja," Annie laughs bitterly, eyes on her mother. "Maybe ma didn't want you to find out, well whatever. My power is one of several, because my X-gene is tied to whatever fucked up brain chemistry I have. I was diagnosed with D.I.D by Charles when I was 19... I've got three other personalities in m'head. The original Rogue, m'self, Mary, and Annabelle. Each got different powers."

You recall Shadowcat’s words. Mystique’s reluctance to discuss her children. Rogue’s - Annie’s - choice to live in seclusion. All those pieces, leading to... _fuck_. This just took things to an entirely different place than you’d been prepared for. Mystique and Magneto – and Charles? – had been using their mentally unsound child as a soldier in their war effort.

You clench your jaw - and your fists - and stare resolutely forward. “I see,” you reply flatly, inwardly seething. You try to displace some of your violent rage into a more productive emotion, reminding yourself you’re hardly in any position to be critiquing others’ family rearing methods even if you really fucking want to. “...Look, maybe it would be good if we caught the rest of this up when we’re on the move,” you sigh. “Sorry for being a dick, Annie.”

“Y'don't need to apologize for anything except my helmet, muttonchops," She slaps you on the shoulder good-naturedly and sets the mug down. "I'm pretty fucking tough. Lemme sober up a bit and then I'll check on the jet.”

“Pretty tough. No kidding,” you mutter sincerely as the woman moves past you heading towards the hangar.

Mystique sits in the chair, staring at her hands. You watch her icily for a moment, a biting rebuke perched on the tip of your tongue and begging to be released. The sheer wrongness of what you had just become awakened to was like a thick cloud of bloody mist clinging to your nostrils, red and coppery and stinking of mistakes. It would be too easy to be self-righteous. It would feel good to tear at her for her less than stellar handling of her own blood, especially when you still itch from the fiasco with Shadowcat. There was wrong and then there was wrong.

_The blinded woman scoffs. ”Don’t preach to me, Howlett. It’s less insulting and more...petty.”_

Right. “D.I.D, huh...” you exhale softly, hanging your head. “When did you suspect?”

"...When she was nineteen, same as her," she says softly. "I didn't know...what to do. I thought I was doing the right thing, but it turned out my actions had caused her personalities to appear. My mistakes. Annie is the main one now, which is...a positive development...” She tries to sound impassive, but there is no mistaking the tremor in her voice. “But I miss my daughter. Annie is just the replacement she created to handle things."

Mystique closes her eyes tightly. "I left with her and Kurt not long after I found out. We would come and go, she sometimes wanted to help...she was so confused and frightened, missing days of her life and wanting her father, and Magneto...” She exhales through her nose. “Erik had no idea how to be a father. All he knew was parents who he saw die horribly. He couldn't remember what it meant to be a parent himself. It took Annie a long time to realize...that she needed to quit."

“So Annie’s the one in charge. And...Rogue is the original?”

"Yes. Well. Anna Marie is the original,” Mystique swallows. “Annie is just the alter she created to cope. Rogue was the name Erik gave her, but I've never liked it."

“And then there’s Mary and…Annabelle?” you ask, trying to get the information sorted. “How can you tell the difference?”

"The hair color changes, the powers change, and...the temperament."

“So how did...this driver’s seat change happen? Did Charles do something to put Annie in charge?” Like he had done with you.

She shakes her head. "It was all in her head. Charles was adamant about not using his power to “fix” her. He said her illness did not make her less of a person, much like being a mutant didn't make her less of a person. He didn't want to hurt her, I think, trying to restore her."

He was right about that, at least, as far as you were concerned. "We all have to cope in our own way. Hers is...different. But we’re all a little different - Charles had a point there. I get it,” you lean against Annie’s desk with arms folded. “My brother, he uh...he’s different too.”

She nods slowly, wiping her eyes. "He was right about a lot of things. Your…brother? Sabertooth?"

“Victor,” you correct reflexively. You stop, then shrug. “Sabertooth, too. Can’t run away from it. He’s both of those people.”

“I took him in for a brain scan once. When things started getting really bad. He hated hospitals, so I pretty much had to drag him kicking and screaming in there and sit him down while they poked and prodded him. I wanted to fix him. But...they told me there wasn’t anything they could fix, because his brain was just made different from other people’s.”

“I tried shoving it down. Sabertooth. Kept him locked up, away from people. So he wouldn’t get hurt or hurt other people. But it didn’t help - he just sat there and melted away in front of me. I wanted to keep Victor alive, but I was killing him. Because I...didn’t want to take both sides of him.”

You exhale heavily, closing your eyes. “So. I get it. Not knowing what to do. Feeling like someone you know...care about...turned into a stranger in front of you. It ain’t easy. But maybe...I don’t know. Maybe your girl isn’t gone. Maybe this new way she is, and her other selves, are just all part of the same whole. Y’know? Maybe she needs someone who wants all of those parts of her, not just...the original.”

"Maybe," Mystique admits with pain, rising and going to the door. "But I don't know if I'm strong enough to be that person.".

When you walked outside behind Mystique, she gestured for you to join Shadowcat and Arctic by the car. The blue-skinned mutant watched her daughter for a few moments before turning around and heading for the tree line. "I'm going to check in with Angel."

Arctic glanced at you warily as Mystique walked off. The boy was quietly polishing his watch on his shirt, thinking to himself while the spy sat in the car.

"I was sort of hoping my first real mission would be something cool, like fighting the government or destroying sentinels... This has been pretty depressing," He finally says, looking down at the watch. You could hear it wasn't ticking. "...Angel had to decide whether or not his dad was gonna die just a couple days ago, and he hasn't... _talked_ about it. At all. Shouldn't he be freaking out?"

Pregnant silence.

 _"I'd_ be freaking out." He mumbles.

Shadowcat watches him before looking at you. Her expression seemed...dully familiar. She knew the suffering that Bobby hadn't had to endure yet. That the X-Force mission was a long slog into darkness that had broken many of its members, estranged most of them, and eventually led to one of its leaders meeting a violent, bloody end.

Maybe there was no happy ending to fighting the good fight.

“The process doesn’t work the same for everyone, kid. Some people are loud with their feelings. Others keep it quiet. We can’t control how he decides to deal with things - just be close when he needs you.”

You let that sit for a bit, then ask: “What’s the story with that watch?”

"Oh..." he holds it up. "Before I, uh...joined X-Force..." Arctic reddens. "Um. Well, the Professor and Magneto found me homeless on the street. I had been out for a while, and uh... This was one of the few things from my life that I had left."

“How long ago was it?”

"About three years ago," the boy recalls. "My parents...found out from my younger brother that he’d… _seen_ me..."

“That’s too bad for them, then. They lost a pretty cool kid. How did you make it?”

Arctic looks down at his hands. "Um. Well, nobody knew about my mutation and it wasn't like I was losing control of it... The Professor said I had an abnormal level of control over my powers for someone my age, said it made me a...uh... _amoeba_?" He shrugs. "So I used them when I had to."

It was tragic, in many ways. Your life before your awakening had been beset with terrible sicknesses, leaving you bedridden for days and often returned to that state shortly after any recovery. You’d had Victor and your mother, of course, but Victor had never quite been able to connect with you, already half into the animal world as he was. It wasn’t until you took a step in yourself that the two of you truly understood each other.

The world had opened up to you then. Brought you many things - heartbreak and pain, yes, but also thrills. Power. Opportunity. Ageless companionship. But all it had brought kids like Angel and Arctic were painful losses.

Shadowcat looks down. "Magneto and Charles came to my parent's door. They said Charles had sensed their distress when they found out about my powers, said they would train me, take care of me..." She closes her eyes. "They still don't know about my legs. I didn't have the heart to go back and show them that letting me go may have been the worse choice... It might have been better that... I don't know."

She sighs. "X-Force has a long and storied history. They've been the good guys, the bad guys... They'd say they were the good guys the whole way through, perceptions just changed. People thought they were extraneous. I guess when guys like Sinister and the Shadow King were taken out, people began to think that the worst of mutants was over. Groups like the Hellfire Club started to consolidate power as people saw advantages to having mutants around."

"When they rescued Plague from that butcher shop...." Shadowcat stutters. "I don't know, I guess we just wanted to do the right thing, but the team had to go underground again. We should have stayed that way."

“If you had, then Havok would still be in the Triskelion. Another butcher shop. It’s not always going to come out perfect or clear. You can’t erase doubt from every choice. But what you can do is be willing to live with that doubt and keep going. Otherwise, all the mistakes made along the way will never have been valuable at all.”

"Um. Dude." Arctic raises a finger.

“Hm?”

"She phased through the floor of the car..." he points inside the car, where Shadowcat once was, now having melted away. "I don't think wanted the lecture?" He shrugs. "I mean... It's cool and all that you've got all your convictions and stuff, but I guess maybe sometimes you're a little preachy..." Arctic mumbles. "Like talking is great and I get that you're old...? And you probably know a lot more than me but it's sort of like...with Angel. Sometimes people just whanna get their feelings out there."

"And sometimes its better if you get it out there instead of bottling it up inside." He looks at the watch.

You decide to take the hint and shut up. Arctic blushes. "I know I'm not as smart as Magneto would like and they all probably think I'm like... I dunno, a total blowhard, but I try to say what's on my mind because otherwise I think I woulda gone crazy, y'know? You've gotta find ways to cope."

He pauses, then frowns. "Did’ja get a bug bite?"

“...Huh?”

He pokes your forehead. "You got a weird red mark here."

You blink. Then you grab Arctic and try to take cover on the opposite side of the car.

"Whoa hey, what's going on-" To answer his question, a missile rockets by where your head was and slams into the control tower, the lower floor exploding outward in a gust of fire.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Arctic screams.

“Not to be preachy,” you snipe pettily. “But there’s some hellfire and brimstone coming our way!”

[Almost on cue, music starts to play across the airfield, emanating from the woods beyond.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f3dpAVxA2EA) It’s matched by an ear-piercing shriek as a silver flash erupts into the air, flying towards the small white dot of Angel's wings.

"BY GOD!" A voice bellows, a Sentinel Alpha emerging from the woods at ground level, armed to the teeth with an assortment of miniguns, rocket launchers, and other heavy weapons. "THERE IS NOTHING MORE SATISFYING THAN THE FIRES OF WAR! CRY HAVOC, YA GOT-DAMNED MUTIE BASTARDS," He cackles, lining up the rocket launchers. "AND LET LOOSE THE SLAVERING HOUNDS OF WAR!"

“Riiiiiight,” you reply eloquently, busy as you are stabbing your claws into the driver side door and separating it from the machine to wield as a shield. “Arctic, can you bring in some fog or something to obscure its sight?”

"Right!" He throws his hands up, clouds of fog shooting forward and billowing over the ground. As he does this, a volley of rockets comes flying through, tearing the remains of the control tower to broken pieces of rubble that rain down on you. Thanks to Arctic's cooling fog, the worst of the heat wave hadn't seriously hurt you both. It was pure luck and the inaccuracy of the rockets over distance that one hadn't hit the car and turned you into irradiated ash.

Annie came running out of the hangar, throwing a hand over her face as the fires raged. "-----------" She seemed to shout something, but you realized your ears were ringing from the blast. Hangar - where there was supposed to be a jet waiting for you. Perfect. “That way!” You point, keeping Arctic ahead of you as you run.

He follows behind you desperately as the two of you dash under cover, a hail of bullets piercing the fog around you as you flanked Annie and dragged her back into cover. The hangar was sturdier and absorbed the damage of another volley of rockets from the sentinel, but this wouldn't hold him forever. Before you was... A modified and retrofitted Lockheed Martin SR-71 Blackbird sitting in the bay. "What the fuck is going on?!" Annie yells, grabbing your neck to get your attention. "WHERE IS MY MOTHER?! Where's Shadowcat?!"

Oh shit. Shadow-

"Hi." Shadowcat popped up between your legs.

Oh. “Good to have you back,” you reply. You turn to Annie. “She went for the tree line to contact Angel.”

"They're not gonna be a match for an Alpha Sentinel," Arctic exclaims, face pale. "We gotta go help them, James!"

"We take one step out that door and the other one will turn us into barbecued Swiss cheese," Shadowcat counters. "We need a diversion."

“You can phase people with you, right Shadowcat?”

"Yeah, though your lung capacity is probably not as good as mine," she replies. "And I don't phase-walk as quickly as I used to."

“I’ll have to manage. Arctic, thicken up this fog as much as you can then get in the Blackbird. It’ll be you and Annie, flying that thing. Get that Alpha off Angel’s back,” you turn to Shadowcat. “If you can get me behind the fucker, I can distract him. Then you get clear, alright?”

"Uhhh," Annie raises a hand. "Hi. No. That's not happening. The plane isn't ready to fly. It hasn't gone through even the most basic checklists, it's not got fuel, it's not going anywhere. The fuel tanks are out back and we're lucky those didn't get hit early."

“Then we’ve got to get rid of the Alpha down here before we can help Angel...” you appraise Annie meaningfully. “You know how things work. Intuition, right? Would that work for figuring out a weak point in that Sentinel we could hit?”

"If I can see it, sure,” she winces as the huge explosion outside signals the destruction of the car. “But that fog isn't going to help me and I need to get close."

"HEY!" The voice is right outside. "IF YOU MUTIES ARE DONE COWERING LIKE PINK-BLOODED COMMIES, I HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL YOU! IT WON'T BE LONG UNTIL YOUR FINE FEATHERED FRIEND IS DOWN AND OUT, BUT DON'T WORRY, I AIN'T GONNA KILL HIM! YET, AT LEAST."

The Alpha is silent for a moment. "I MAY NOT BE SO OBLIGING IF YOU DO NOT SURRENDER."

Shadowcat hesitates. "We need to get the jet ready to be airborne, and we need to make sure Angel stays alive. We need to split up. Arctic goes one way, James goes another, Annie another. I stay behind to work on getting the jet ready. It's the only way we're going to keep them occupied and keep our friends alive."

“Annie,” you grit your teeth and force the question out. “Is there an alter with combat powers you could hand the reigns to for this? Then shift back when it’s time to fly.”

"Umm... I can try, but it's not really that simple. The others aren't all chomping at the bit to get out, even if- It's a long story. I can try. But I can't promise that you'll like what you get." She closes her eyes, concentrating.

Annie's red hair shifts in color...to become a light, sandy-blonde accompanied by big doe eyes and a radiant smile that makes your heart skip a beat. "Well howdy, ain'tcha one handsome fella. Don't think we've been acquainted," she extends a hand. "I'm Mary, just pleased as punch to meet’cha."

"...Oh we're so _fucked_." Arctic runs his hands through his hair.

You rapidly shift looks between the four of you. “Is this bad?! _Why is this bad?!”_

"..." Shadowcat winces. "This is Mary. The least mature and most child-like of the four."

"Is something bad happenin'?" Mary looks around.

“Sentinels! Rockets! Need to kill it so we can help a friend!”

"Oh gosh, uh... I don't do much fightin', that's what the other girls are for." Her smile falters.

Shadowcat runs a hand down her face. "Her power is to project her thoughts into other people's minds. Which is entirely useless against the sentinels."

Mary is beginning to shake. "Are-are we in trouble? I don't know what's goin' on, I'm s-sorry, I didn't mean'ta cause you any trouble..." Tears start trailing down her cheeks.

“Can you project into the thoughts of people you can’t see,” you ask Mary, before noticing her tears. “No-no-no! You’re not at fault, Mary! Don’t be upset.”

"Umm... Yeah, I-I can. It just takes a bit a' concentration." She mumbles.

“Can you contact Angel or your mother? It’ll help us coordinate.” You smile reassuringly at her. “I’d really appreciate it.”

"Wh-what do you want me to say to them," She asks. "Is mama in trouble?" Her voice is a whisper for that.

“She needs our help, along with another friend. Just...call them and tell them to get here to the hangar if they can.”

You stare out into the fog. “Shadowcat, Arctic, you guys get the jet prepped if you can. I’ll take care of the Sentinel in the meantime.”

The blond nods quickly, lifting Shadowcat and carrying her away, the two conferring on their next step.

"Okay I... Sent out the message." Mary says quietly. "I don't know if they got it or not... I can only send messages, I don't know if they arrive or not."

“Fingers crossed,” you try to smile reassuringly. “You did good, Mary. Can you help the others with the jet? I’d really appreciate it.”

She nods quickly and heads over to help the others.

You take a deep breath and venture out into the mist, the clean scent of condensed water doing wonders for clearing some of the smell of smoke out of your nostrils. You focus your senses for the smell and sound of the Sentinel, knowing it lurks somewhere ahead.

[The sentinel, for its part, was not being subtle.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dlLZyoeLSwY)

"You know what I hate more than a mutie?" It looms behind you, golden eyes burning through the thick mist.

You turn around and try to slash those golden eyes out. It catches your wrist with one insanely quick hand. "A dirty, loathsome, pinko _commie_." It leans in to look at you closely. "You ain't a commie, are ya boy?"

“Worse,” you smirk. “I’m Canadian.”

You try for another stab! The blow lands in its chest, but its unfazed, instead locking your arm in with its elbow. "An illegal immigrant eh? Well allow me to send you back to your godforsaken frozen wasteland, courtesy of Air ME!" It pivots and launches you, sending you flying over the burning wreckage of the car to land against the tarmac.

The sentinel comes racing out of the smoke and mist, its maneuverability accentuated by rocket skates. "I have to say I can't stand these infernal fireworks holding me down!" It detaches its Gatling guns and rocket tubes with a pneumatic hiss, shaking off the excess weight and moving even faster.

"I prefer my work be a little more intimate. My design is meant to emulate America's greatest soldier, Agent Zer0! He may be a dirty mutie, but he knows where his loyalties lie. To America!" It opens up its wrists to reveal two single-barrel gun attachments, and two trench knifes pop out of its elbows and affix themselves at the joint.  "But I am better than him. My heart bleeds red, white, and blue. I was born under the careful hand of the American manufacturing machine, to protect it from its greatest enemies!"

“We’ll see what color your heart bleeds when I rip it out of ya,” you snarl, lowering yourself into a crouch and waiting for your enemy to strike.

"HA!" He flanks left, opening fire with his accurate 9mm cannons. The bullets punch into you, making you grimace in dismay...but you notice he's shooting for your center of mass, not taking into account you can heal from those. Not that it doesn't hurt like hell and is slowing you down just a little. You eyeball the discarded Gatling gun left behind by the Sentinel. Some firepower you sorely needed...

You try to break the robot’s line of sight by slipping deeper into the fog, then circle around to the abandoned weaponry to get some of that sweet mini-gun action. It loses track of you for just a minute for you to slip around and pick up the Gatling You also notice the motorcycle is nearby, scuffed up but still in one piece...

You plant your feet and listen for the sounds of AC/DC, finger tensed on the trigger.

"I LIKE THE WAY YOU BLEED, BOY!" The Alpha comes rushing through the mist, arms cross to slash you with its elbow blades.

“I AINT GOT TIME TO BLEED,” you roar back, unleashing the firepower of the Gatling, aiming in particular for the legs and rocket skates.

The bullets ping off of it, damaging some of the armor and peppering it incessantly. The robot curses and shoulder checks you, knocking you back a few feet and skating around. "Feh!" Your advantage is short-lived, though... Because the other Alpha returns, releasing a sonic scream that flattens you into the ground. In its hands are Mystique and Angel, both unconscious, and it throws the two of them carelessly to the sides, their bodies rolling clear of the melee.

"Taking too long." The hyper-sonic Alpha grumbles shortly.

"I had 'em on the ropes." The Alpha you had been fighting protests. "Nothing like a good brawl to get the oil boiling."

“I thought you were an American bot,” you jeer at the warbot. “Letting other people interrupt our fight is pretty Red of ya, scrub.”

"Hah! You think I'll fall for a cheap trick like that, mutie? Your Canadian foolishness simply doesn't recognize the fair tactic of a numerical advantage!" The Alpha retorts. "But as you can see, you can't take even one of us, much less two. Your two mutie friends there are already down for the count."

**_ Jump _ **

[ _FSSSSST_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n2rVnRwW0h8)

A bright sheen of ice covers the ground beneath you, spreading wide across the tarmac as the doors to the hangar begin to rumble open, steam pouring out from the interior of the huge structure. You hear the familiar tell-tale whine of jet engines, and realize the Blackbird is on the move.

"WHAT!?" The true-blue Alpha snarls. "DON'T LET THEM GET AW-" But its head is covered in a plume of ice as Arctic comes skating out of the mist, racing across the ice like he was born to it.

"JAMES!" He slides around to come back-to-back with you. "We've gotta go. They got the jet fueled up and since no one knows the first thing about a pre-flight checklist, we're winging this son of a bitch."

The hypersonic Alpha launches into the air, making a beeline for the Blackbird.

“Can you do something to ground that guy?!” You look for Mystique and Angel, needing to retrieve them before you can retreat. You see that Mystique is to the north, Angel to the south.

"I can do something!" Arctic extends his ice field and goes racing after it, shooting bolts of ice at it erratically. The sonic Alpha shrieks and dips and weaves to avoid the attacks, distracted from the attack.

The Blackbird begins to bank, pointing down the long runway... And the sound of the engines begins to hit a fever pitch, and you realize they're planning on launching themselves down the way to get away from the Sentinels. The hatch on the back of the plane lowers, and you see Mary shouting something, but you can't hear it over the roar.

"-DAMN MUTIES!" The patriotic sentinel smashes the ice with a furious roar. "This is Zero-Alpha, the Mutants are making an escape, deploy the ornithopters and vertibirds! GET IT BEFORE IT TAKES OFF!" It attempts to launch itself towards you, but slips and collapses on the ice. You run for the motorcycle, praying your skill is good enough to use it ably on the ice. With it, you should hopefully be able to scoop up Angel and Mystique both in time.

In the distance to the west you can see aircraft peeking over the horizon. You slip across the ice and slam against the bike, pulling it up onto its wheels. You hear a terrible crash nearby as the sonic sentinel slams into the tarmac, its wings frozen. While you get the bike working, Arctic races back to distract the other Alpha, dodging and weaving around his gunshots expertly on the ice while retaliating with ice bolts that freeze its joints.

You rev the bike and go to pick up Angel first! The tires screech on the road and make an odd hissing noise as you travel across the ice, sliding over to Angel's position. Arctic throws up a shield of ice as he soars by, twisting and dipping to present a constantly moving target. You could only marvel at his physical capability.

You’d underestimated the kids of X Force, again and again. You’d insisted on seeing them as just children in need of protection...but now, you think you understood better what drove Charles, Magneto, and Mystique to see them as more than children. Soldiers in the making.

A new breed of power.

You scoop up Angel and shout to Arctic. “Alright, kid, can you get to Mystique and get yourself on the bird?!” You make to drive the motorcycle up into the back of the jet!

"I can try!" He says, swooping around to intercept the blue-skinned mutant. As you roar ahead, the alpha screams more curses and begins to give chase as you both race for the back of the blackbird. The heat and pressure were intense, burns crawling across your skin as you zoomed towards it. Mary was in the back, gesturing for you to hurry... But if she was there, then who was piloting the plane?

...

Oh, no one was piloting the plane.

_No one was piloting the plane as it rocketed towards the tree line._

As you get closer you pop a wheelie, slamming onto the hatch and rocketing up to crash inside the plane. Mary comes running up to extricate you and Angel from the bike as the plane roars faster and faster.  Out on the tarmac, Arctic raced to keep up, pushing himself forward with blasts of ice to make it in time... But he wasn't sure he could make it with Mystique weighing him down. The shrieking Sentinel soared past, trying to catch up as well while the other Sentinel chased behind him.

You rush as quickly as you can to get the bike up and ready to peel out of the jet once more. You’ll meet Arctic halfway, take Mystique and let him go ahead into the jet. If anyone had to be left behind today, it’d be you. And you were fairly sure Mystique would feel the same. If not...well. It wouldn’t be the first mistake you’d ever made.

Probably your last, though.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Arctic bellows as you come rumbling back down the tarmac with the motorcycle.

“GIVE ME MYSTIQUE AND GET IN THE PLANE!” You shout back.

He blinks in surprise and offloads her, shooting forward with more speed towards the hatch. Ahead, you see the sonic sentinel land on the blackbird, clinging on tightly but sliding backwards ever so slowly. Behind you, the other sentinel was gaining on you!

You gun the engine and hope you can outrun the thing one...last...time!

“Arctic! Fire some shots past me and cover our ass! Get this guy off us!”

He nods and turns to skate backwards, shooting off blasts that trip up the Sentinel and bring it crashing to the ground. Side by side you race up to the Blackbird, which is perilously close to the treeline!

“Mystique! Now sure would be a good time for you to wake up!”

She stirs slightly, turning her head to look at you as they fly up into the plane... And her eyes widen as she looks through the cockpit ahead, climbing over you and launching herself forward to grab the stick. "HOLD ON OR YOU'LL GO FLYING OUT THE BACK!" She screams at the top of her lungs, jerking back with all her strength.

You stab your claws into the floor and grab Arctic, assuming he doesn’t secure himself with ice shenanigans!

He does, also pinning Angel and Mary down! However as the jet rockets upwards, the motorcycle clangs and falls out the back, soaring end over end backwards...

On the hull of the plane, the Sentinel tries to cling on to the sleek metal but slides back a foot... And then looses its grip, falling backwards as well and getting charred in the afterburners. Its wings useless, it falls to Earth...

The other Sentinel races forward, screaming angrily as the Blackbird ascends into the sky, his vertibirds too late... And in the midst of his rage subroutines he fails to track the falling object. The bike smashes into the Sentinel, the tank popping off and exploding with tremendous force.

You hold on tight and wait for the jet to level out, exhaling a triumphant “whoop!” of victory. “Arctic, take a goddamn bow! Great work, kid!”

Mary smashes the button to close the hatch, pressurizing the compartment and you all breathe a sigh of relief. Arctic begins to laugh giddily. "I was in my element." He jokes.

You frown. “You had me. Then you blew it.”

You wink to show you’re joking, pulling yourself off the floor. It was over…for now. “Well...where to?”

Mystique hits the autopilot after punching in coordinates, slowly exhaling and turning to face you. You can see the burns where the jet’s exhaust had struck the two of you, your own already vanished into memory. "...Germany. We're going to Germany."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the original plan, Anna Marie was going to be relatively straightforward with a mutant ability of super strength and a shared history of child soliderdom alongside her brother and Kitty. Her life-draining touch was something both of us as authors were tired of for the played-out woobification in the Singer films, and as such was left unused. But this left Rogue in a place of being merely a punch girl without too much to define her among the more colorful personalities of the cast.
> 
> Shortly before the session in which she was introduced, I deliberately sat Malganis84 down with me to watch “Split,” an interesting intersection of superpowers and (for Hollywood) tasteful treatment of real mental illness and the people who live with them. The idea I then proposed was to incorporate something of Rogue’s mental duplication powers from her comic origins, further illustrate the consequences of raising children to be weapons, and continue the theme of X-Force as sub-carriers for discussion of social welfare topics. People with mental disorders and illnesses, the neuroatypical, deserve objective and positive representations that treat them as people rather than villains of the week or comedic fodder. Anna Marie was the perfect choice for demonstrating the psychological side of the discussion while also giving Rogue as a heroine the respect she’s earned: there’s no sad Anna Paquin here coming in for the third film in a row to talk about how she wishes she could touch someone without them dying (a tragedy that loses impact after the first film). This is Rogue: a grown-ass woman with grit, skill, a lot of baggage and two hands to carry them. And a glorious accent to create childhood crushes in the hearts of cartoon-loving boys and girls.


	11. Unforgiven

Awaken the Wolverine

Chapter XI: Unforgiven

 

As the Blackbird streaked across the night sky, undetectable to the radar systems of your enemies. You hunkered down in the cabin, trying to catch some sleep and rest in the wake of the hectic escape from Tennessee. And as you slept, a door was opened in your mind, helping you drift further and further backwards in time...

[You were walking through an underground tunnel, the lights flickering dimly above you.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eqm5mhGgYp4) Your senses were going haywire in this place, the smells of mildew, concrete, human sweat, oil all intermixing. You were on edge, barely able to put a name to the feeling of animalistic fear that pervaded this place...but you didn't run. You kept walking forwards, because Victor was beside you. You were here together, you had come here together. You were flanked by two uniformed soldiers, led by some bureaucrat in a cheap suit. Heading deeper...deeper...and yet deeper beneath the lake.

A cold drop of water fell from the ceiling of the tunnel and splashed on your neck, making you jump slightly. Victor glanced at you for a moment and then grinned, amused with how jumpy you were. "Relax, little bro," he patted you on the shoulder. "This ain't 'Nam."

You weren't sure if you agreed with his comparison. Sure, this wasn't a Vietcong rat hole, but you hadn't been comfortable underground for thirty years since your days in Vietnam. It was too limiting... Too confined.  The bureaucrat came to a halt by a thick metal door – steel and titanium, your nose guessed. Bits of aluminum in there as well. Strong. Heavy. Solid.

The bureaucrat swiped a keycard, opening the thick metal door and allowing you and Victor entrance to the next section of the facility. Today held a surprise: a smell you had never encountered before. Metallic, but curiously like no metal you had ever smelled before. You could hear it bubbling in a vat in the center of the room, which was uncomfortably warm in comparison with the cold tunnels beforehand.

"Gentlemen," a voice proclaimed from overhead. You twisted around, realizing you were right beneath a catwalk, and above you was...

You blinked in surprise. How long had it been since you had seen that face? What was once young and naive was...older. Wiser. Weary with the decades that had passed. William Stryker, clad no longer in a green camo uniform, now in a much more comfortable turtleneck, sipping coffee from a mug saying _'World's #1 Dad'_.

If Victor recognized him, it wasn't apparent. You were fairly impressed – he looked like less of a bitch now, you’d give him that. “Look at that. Land of opportunity paid off for you, didn’t it?”

Stryker takes a long sip out of his mug. "Yes. You could say that. You two have been doing well for yourselves since Vietnam, I've heard," the officer walks over to the stairs, descending to your floor. "Running drugs and acting as enforcers for the Colombians, black ops in the fall of the Soviet Union, fighting in the Balkans...not bad."

He walks around to meet you two face to face. "But it does tell me something about you both."

Victor's brow wrinkles slightly as he begins to realize who he's looking at. "...Little Willy Stryker, is that you?" A sly grin begins to grow across his face.

Stryker gives the slightest smirk. "Yes, Victor. It's me. I've been busy too.”

“Bout time you realized,” you snort at your brother. “Thought you’d remember your favorite boy from ‘Nam quicker than that.”

Victor shrugs defensively, looking away.

“And you’re a proud old daddy now, too? Good for you.”

Stryker, for his part, gives a very stiff smile. "Yes. I have two children now. Two boys, in fact, much like you two. The older will be sixteen this year. I'm quite proud of him. Wants to be a Marine. I asked why not the army, but..." the gray-streaked man chuckles. "He wants to outdo his old man."

"But...yes. The point. The point is that you two get very, very _bored_ very, very quickly. And as I'm sure you're aware, I know your...secret. That you two have been fighting in many, many wars. That you two are special."

“My mum always said so,” you adopt a dopey look. It bleeds into a very unfriendly frown. “What are you offering?”

"Something new. Something more exciting than fighting the same old wars," Victor perks up slightly at that. "Special people just like you? They're the future. The future of war. The Soviets understood this. They were trying to harness the power of mutation back when we were all clawing through the muck in Vietnam."

Stryker takes another sip of coffee. "I'm putting together a team. Of special people, just like you. Your job will be to fight tomorrow's wars, against enemies who are just as dangerous as you are. And when you're ready to go? A very generous severance package. But knowing you two...I figure you wouldn't be gone for long."

He bleeds smug certainty in his smile. You’re beginning to want to remove the lips from that smirk, but the smell of Victor’s intensifying interest is enough to make you reconsider. Truth be told, you were short of ideas to keep your brother occupied that didn’t end in letting him just run wild terrorizing left and right. And, though you were loathe to admit it, it’d been a while since anything held your attention as well as the prospect of meeting other people who were...different. In all your years, neither you nor Victor had ever run into someone remotely as exceptional as yourselves.

And now here came Willy “altar boy” Stryker, offering everything you needed and more. If you’d known he’d grow up to be such a fucking great snake back in ‘Nam, you’d have saved the world the trouble and left him in a bamboo pit. That said...you weren’t going to say no. You glance at Victor. “Your call. We staying or going?”

Victor grins slowly, showing off his fangs. "I think we can hang a while, see what's what." He says, reflexively rubbing the tips of his fingers together. He always did that when he wanted to pop his claws, but couldn't because it was socially impolite.

Stryker nods, satisfied. "Excellent. On top of your participation, we will also work to _enhance_ your abilities. This, to your left, will only be the beginning," he steps past you as he motions to the vat. "Follow me."

You cast a curious look toward the bubbling substance as you go by, but quickly forget it. There were more important things to focus on.

Stryker leads the two of you through several thick bulkheads, leading you deeper and deeper into the facility until you enter a large, cavernous space, likely carved right into the heart of the mountain. Before you was several arrays of target dummies, as well as swinging pendulums with targets on them, and other training materials.  There were five other people in the huge room, each practicing their abilities – the first was easy to notice: a bald man with a short-trimmed beard wielding a gleaming double-headed axe. He expertly hacked through the dummies, barely breaking a sweat.

Second was an Asian man with a pistol in either hand. Every shot he took, no matter how difficult it might seem, found its mark dead-center of the target. The guns seemed an extension of his body.

The third was an...odd case. A younger-looking man, sickly and wheel-chair bound. He smiled softly at you, motioning to his handler he'd like to be rolled over.

Fourth was an exceptionally beautiful woman with raven-black hair. What was most interesting was that she had retractable claws, similar to Victors. You could tell your brother was certainly interested, judging by the hormones coming off of him.

And the fifth was another woman. A little more homely, she walked over to look you face to face for a moment before popping her own claws identical to yours. She grimaced from the pain, then nodded. "Claws...similar to hers. Interesting...and a healing factor?" She glances at you for confirmation.

“You mean the ‘not dying’ thing? Yeah, that’s me,” you stare at the woman before you intently. Something about the way she said it... “You can copy other people?”

"Yes, my mutation is the ability to copy other mutations. But they have to be in close physical proximity to me, unfortunately," she smiles sheepishly. "I'm practicing holding onto a power for as long as I can, but my current range is about thirty yards."

Stryker pats her on the shoulder. "Vanessa Carslyle, codename Copycat. She's one of the key members of our little group, who we hope to study more closely to understand how her mutation works. If it can be shared, your abilities can all be maximized as you learn to copy each other's mutations."

Victor twitches slightly at that, but doesn't say anything.

"Everyone, this is Victor Creed and James Howlett. They'll be joining our outfit from now on. I'd like for you to make them feel welcome," Stryker announces to the group, who begin to gather. "This is Francis Perlman, codename Ajax. He has super-strength," he gestures to the bald man, and then to the one with the guns. "Christoph Nord, codename Agent Zero. He can manipulate probabilities, amazing as it might seem." Nord smirks slightly, clearly very confident in himself.

Stryker then turns to the other woman. "This is Kayla Mendez, codename Silverfox. She has claws much like you two, though no healing factor. And as for our final, unlikely member..."

He looks at the man in the wheelchair. "Wade Wilson."

"They call me Deadpool." The young man chuckles, extending a hand to you.

 _What, was Wheels taken?_ You’re surprised by yourself at the sheer venom in the thought, snide and contemptuous as it is. Like, you were a mean cuss, but that kind of thinking was just being a cunt. And more...you were, once upon a time, much more helpless and pathetic than this man. You shake his hand, up, down, release.

"Why do they call you Deadpool," Victor grunts dismissively. "Was Wheels taken?"

Wade laughs, rubbing his bald scalp. "Wellll, it's sort of up in the air whether or not the cancer will do me in before the doctors here figure out a way to keep me alive. So there's a betting pool on whether or not I'll make it."

"...Oh," Victor responds.

“Smooth, Vic,” you grunt. Inwardly, you’re putting facts together – a mutant with copycat abilities, a cancer patient with no visible mutations, and now two men being brought on with impossible regenerative talents. Two, plus two, equaled…

Victor shrugs defensively again, twitching more. He didn't like this situation now, but Stryker defused things by picking up on your thought. "Combining your mutation with Vanessa's, we're hoping to give Wade here another chance at life. Prior to his diagnosis, he was a soldier and an accomplished mercenary."

You grunt. “Just Wade?”

"For now. All great advancements started in the military. Medical science, cell phones, you'd be surprised what started in a military research lab," Stryker says confidently. "If we can cure Wade, we'll have done something entirely unprecedented...created the first synthetic mutant."

‘For now.’ But now was passing. In the future, Wade might be the gateway to millions of people getting years back from the reaper. If everything went right - which it rarely did, but still. You could actually save lives if you stayed. Do something that _meant_ something. No more little boys, feeling their lungs turning to soggy rags in their chest.

Huh.

But as much as the notion interests you, you can tell Victor’s patience is rapidly dissolving. If you wanted him to stay hooked, you needed to redirect the conversation. “But in the meantime, you also need us ‘round to smoke some sons of bitches,” you smile grimly. “For God n’ country and all that.”

"Yes. The higher ups have yet to realize the true utility of this project. Until then, we are all weapons in the hands of the United States government," He chuckles, setting aside his mug.

”Gentlemen...welcome to Weapon X.”

**_ XxXxX _ **

Your eyes flickered open quickly, though your vision had yet to focus. You took in more than your eyes could tell you at first glance - the engines of X-Force's old Blackbird were still burning hot, the loud roar rumbling deep within your bones. You could smell smoke on yourself, a reminder of your battle with the Sentinels. Smoke, blood, melted rubber and scorched steel all mixed into a heady cocktail that made your stomach turn.

Sitting up more slowly, you found yourself laid across several passenger seats in the far back end of the plane, close to the hatch. The seats were lumpy and smelled like sweat, but they were still more comfortable than rolling across the metal floor, you had to admit. Across the cabin you could see Shadowcat was strapped down as well, sleeping fitfully with her arms tucked around her head to block out the constant noise.

Angel and Arctic were up near the cockpit, the winged mutant changing a bandage on a scrape the other mutant had received in the skirmish. Mystique had to be up in the cockpit then, with her daughter, Anna Marie.

You rub your face blearily as you rise, coming away with flakes of dried blood on your palm. Yeah, this kind of awakening was familiar. You stretch, groaning lowly as you work out knots in your muscles - damned seats - and think on what you’d dreamed. Or rather, recalled.

Weapon X: the dream team of William “Willy” Stryker. Once upon a time, a timid little grunt stumbling through the Vietnam bush next to two born predators of the wild. Now he was in charge of a shadow team of mutant pawns, some perhaps willing, others controlled.

You should’ve dropped him in the same bamboo pit Victor had tumbled into, right after that assumed-final question as you’d deserted. Just one push and everything would’ve been different.

Everything except you, at least. The more of yourself you recalled, the more you remembered what it was like to be a heartless bastard. Stryker might’ve died, but another animal would still be loose in the world. Maybe he still was.

You step closer to the boys, scratching at your increasingly wild chops. Could use a shave. “Arctic. Angel. Anything busted?”

The two boys look over at the sound of your voice, clearly relieved. Angel, who had been moody and withdrawn since making a deal with the devil over his father's life, seemed shaken out of his funk somewhat, simply glad to be alive. "Nothing too bad." Arctic said first, to no real surprise. His arm had a bad scrape, but it wasn't life-threatening, as long as they kept their first aid up.

Angel hesitates, his right wing fidgeting. "Got a minor fracture, I think. Hurts like hell, which... Is a good sign, probably. Reminds me of when I broke my toe. My... My mom said that the little breaks hurt more because our brain chemistry doesn't adjust for the pain level. Probably should keep my flying to a minimum until it heals, though."

"...You're okay, right?” Arctic asks, looking up at you. "I mean, I know you... Y'know...you do the thing. But..."

“I’m solid,” you confirm, attempting to be reassuring. “Nothing keeps this guy down.”

Except for ageless ennui, bleak existential depression, sibling worries, genocidal grandparents, suspected partial responsibility for the worst plague in the history of mankind. Those things kind of kicked you in the balls. “We still got those painkillers, don’t we? If it’s too much for ya,” you nod at Angel’s wing. “Won’t mean much for safe flying but ‘least you’ll be comfortable.”

"Oh, yeah we do," the boy nods slowly. "Do they have side effects, you think? I’d rather be lucid in case something happens. Because something seems to always happen."

Arctic groans in agreement. "We're magnets for bad luck."

“Caliban was pretty out of it when we had to dose him, but he had a worse break and bigger injection,” you consider for a moment. “Hngh. Probably right, though. Might be best to save it for future, potentially German shit-storms.”

Two X-Force members returned to the fold. And the final one, now, was the estranged son of Mystique and Magneto to complement their equally estranged – and strange – daughter. You weren’t holding out hope he would turn out less ruinously damaged than his sibling. “Mystique and Mary’re up there, yeah? She good?”

Arctic makes a wobbly hand gesture. "Her hair turned black and she started swearing at Mystique. A lot. Like... I think I learned some new words because of her. But they're piloting the plane and they're in the same cockpit so they're either getting along or she murdered Mystique."

You think for a moment. Black hair, loads of swearing...didn’t sound like any of the ‘alters’ you’d met so far. Must’ve been a new one, or the original – Rogue. “In the interest of confirming or unconfirming murder I guess I should head up. Bunk’s free if either of you wanna get some shut-eye. And...you did great,” you acknowledge sincerely. “Both of ya. I’m glad you’re here.”

The funny thing was, you were pretty sure you meant it. You could hear Victor rolling his eyes at your attempts to play child-herder. ‘Since when did you want rugrats, Jimmy?’

You didn’t. Ever. And besides, these weren’t kids. Not anymore.

It was hard for the two boys to contain their shocked delight at your praise. Despite everything, despite Hank McCoy dying at your hands, they didn't see the monster. They saw the man who had saved Alex, who had destroyed sentinel after sentinel. Who took the fight to the people who hated them. They didn't see a monster, they saw a mentor, one whose praise meant the world to them. Perhaps it felt good for a minute, seeing their happiness at proving themselves to you. Maybe you'd let yourself enjoy that moment.

Angel couldn't possibly angle himself comfortably on the chair, so he insisted Arctic go and rest before they landed and began the next daring escapade. As you enter the cockpit you can hear them quibble over who should get the bed even knowing there was no way Angel could take it.

With a final look, you march forth to brave the lion’s den, morbidly curious if you would find streaks of red and blue splashed over the cockpit.

The atmosphere of the cockpit was frosty in comparison. Mystique sat in the left chair, her golden eyes fixed straight ahead on the dense clouds while her sable-haired copilot studied the radar, GPS, and a paper map of Europe, plotting a course for Kurt. When you closed the door behind you, the younger woman glanced up at you curiously before turning an odd shade and quickly looking back at the map. Your sensitive ears caught her whispering, "Oh _holy fuck.”_  under her breath as she clutched the map closer to her face.

"Oh, James," Mystique perks up, happy to get some sort of interruption from the oppressive silence. "Glad you're up. How do you feel?"

“Not too shabby. ‘Bout you? Tried not to let you get too crispy running up the ramp, but...”

She smiles a little. "Doing alright. That flying Sentinel's shriek was...not pleasant. But I've been through worse. I'm glad you got us out of there in one piece," she glances at her copilot. "James, this is Annabelle. She was... _surprised_ to find herself in this situation, but she's been taking the transition well."

Annabelle glances at you out of the corner of her eye. "Hey,” she mumbles, and despite having the body of a forty-year-old woman you sensed the pouty teenage rebellion of a high school junior.

"It helps we're going to pick up Kurt. He was always Annabelle's favorite." Mystique reminiscies, trying not to smile with motherly affection.

" _Raven_ ," Her daughter hisses with embarrassment. "He doesn't care about that shit."

You scoff, amused. “It’s okay to love your brother, kid. He’s the only one you have.”

"K-kid?!" Annabelle sputters, suddenly not amused with your tone. "I am not a kid, I am _three-fucking-eight!"_ She jabs a finger up at you.

"You'reeeee forty-one, sweetie." Mystique corrects with a wince.

"Forty on- WHAT THE SHIT, GUYS!" She slaps her head. "THREE YEARS?! REALLY?! YOU _FUCKS_?!"

That was...unsettling to consider, actually. Not being aware of time, suddenly waking up to find years passed you by. What would that feel like, you wonder?

...Oh. Yeah.

“So, Kurt’s in Germany. Where’s he staying?”

"He and his family are in Oberstdorf, on the very southern tip of the country. His teleportation has a limited range, and so he wanted to live somewhere he could cross international borders easily to throw off trackers. The proximity to the Alps and the mountainous environment is favorable to him and his daughter...Talia." Mystique explains it all with a tone that makes it clear she very deliberately did not tell you about Kurt's daughter or that he even had a family.

Annabelle fumes silently, embroiled in her map with clenched fists.

“Well,” you try to reply lightly, sensing the disturbed waters. “At least it won’t be getting lonely at base anytime soon.”

Mystique makes a face. "We're probably going to move to a different safehouse. Or at least spread some folks around. It's not safe to keep everyone in one place. If there's an attack..." She'd rather not dwell on it. Charles and Erik were...had been getting old. Making mistakes. The death of Charles was solely on their incompetence to not keep moving after bloodying the nose of Weapon X all those years ago. Poor Hank died because of their complacency.

More and more, it has become easy for you to see people – really see them, in a way you haven’t before. It’s as if in discovering pieces of yourself you’d lost, your mind was also discovering rooms you’d never explored before. It’s confusing, even frightening…but perhaps this was the insight Charles believed you to have. The one he’d died to unshackle.

Mystique sighs. "We'll discuss it with Erik and Alex when we get back to the states. Right now I just want to get everyone to safety while we still can. What's our ETA, Annabelle?"

"At current speed, we... should be over the French Riviera. Should arrive at Oberstdorf within the next hour, hour and a half at most," the daughter responds, switching to a trained, emotionless tone.

“I’ll let the kids and Shadowcat know. Leave you ladies to it.” You take your leave, sure to add a little emphasis to ‘ladies’ for Annabelle’s benefit. God knows you’re not dealing with moody teenage forty year old for the rest of the trip.

Opening the cockpit, you find Shadowcat still sleeping fitfully while Arctic is curled up in the chairs you had vacated. Angel was slowly stretching his injured wing and recoiling it, wincing slightly.

Your Alpha Boy pinged, a small cartoon figure jumping up and down on the screen with a letter in its hand. You glance down, bemused, and smirk a little at the animated action. Little bastard was kind of charming. You fiddle with the device until you open the message, anxious as you realize there was only one place you’d be getting messages from.

[...]

[...]

[[Opening Message]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rxK_IrcM5BY)

[...]

[...]

[Hello, Jimmy.]

[Victor is talking again.]

[Looks great.]

[Met Rahne, your cousin.]

[Got along famously, those two.]

[Brought a tear to your old grandpa's heart.]

[Planning a real family reunion soon.]

[See you soon.]

**_ XxXxX _ **

The Blackbird soars down over the rolling hills and mountains of southern Germany, the beauty of the alps accentuated by the chilly blanket of white snow that had fallen in the last few days. As the jet slowed, its engines blew gusts of wind that whipped the snow into a cyclone around the aircraft before it finally set down in a clearing.

As the engines whined to a quiet hiss, Mystique and Annabelle emerged from the cockpit to address the rest of the crew. "Annabelle is going to take James and I to Kurt's house. It's likely he saw us coming, but I doubt he'll be rolling out the red carpet. Arctic, Angel, you're taking care of Shadowcat. Radio us if there's any trouble, we'll be back quickly."

"Yes, ma'am." Angel nods quickly.

Shadowcat crosses her arms. "Why can't I come along?" She retorts. "It's been ages since I saw Kurt."

“Not going to be a problem I’m there, is it,” you question, considering your first encounter with Shadowcat. She’d merely hid from you - what a teleporter with a child might do if you knocked on his door, you’d rather not experience.

"You can't come along because I want someone responsible watching the jet while we're gone, Kitty." Mystique replies to Shadowcat first, before addressing you. "And I expect Kurt won't know you from Adam, so it shouldn't be a problem. Besides, you're with me and Annabelle. He won't make a big fuss. Annabelle?"

The black-haired girl nods and walks forward to put a hand on your shoulder. "Take a deep breath." She says.

You inhale –

**_ BAMPF _ **

A moment later, you find yourself on the porch of a log cabin secluded deep in the woods and covered with camouflage netting to avoid aerial surveillance. Annabelle and Mystique are standing beside you, casually waving away gouts of purple-black smoke that smells like sulfur and brimstone.

"Doing okay? First jump can be disorienting." Mystique inquires.

You vomit all over the porch.

"Gross." Annabelle winces, taking a quick step back from the upchuck.

"EWWW!!!" A younger girl's voice rings out from the tree line and a small, pixie-like figure ports next to you. Her hair was black, with shades of midnight blue, and her eyes were vibrant yellow, the tips of her ears pointed. "YOU THREW UP ALL OVER THE PORCH!"

Mystique palms her face. "I see the lessons in stealth are going well, Talia."

For your part, you roll your tongue inside your mouth to collect the remaining bile and pointedly spit it somewhere off the porch. In a way, you were grateful: flying was something you’d begun to get used to. With teleportation making its entrance, you still had a means of transport to hate and avoid at all costs. The world remained recognizable. “Uh. Sorry ‘bout that, little miss. We ain’t all so good at the...” You make a ‘whoomph’ noise, shrugging defensively.

"Hey Granny! Hey Auntie Rogue!" Talia greets cheerfully, smashing into Annabelle with a tight hug. Annabelle laughed, uncharacteristic for the brooding girl, squeezing the girl tight.

"Where's _my_ hug?" Mystique says with a pout.

There's another **_BAMPF_** and a taller man with blue skin and blue hair appears in a cloud of smoke, his tail whipping through the air. "It'll come soon enough, mother... As soon as you tell me what you're doing here without calling."

"You don't have a phone, Kurt." Annabelle points out.

"...Well I do recall a super-telepath being available." He replies sniffily, only to frown when his family members cringe.

You close your eyes for a moment. Open them. “Things have changed, sorry to say. Kurt - we haven’t met before, name’s James. We have a lot to talk about. Can we come inside?”

"...Sure." He says after a long moment, opening the door. "Honey, it's alright - It's mom, Rogue, and a new guest." As you follow him inside, you see a woman with greying hair lower a double-barreled shotgun warily. Talia, not bothering with this "walking" or "waiting her turn to go through the door" business, teleports into the cabin, sitting cross-legged on a rafter.

"Well, James, _wilkommen_ ,” Kurt acknowledges briefly, stretching a four-fingered hand to embrace his wife's shoulders. "As you...know...I am Kurt, _und_ this is Ofelia, my wife."

"Guten tag," Ofelia greets, suspicious.

"And that is my daughter, Talia." Kurt nods upwards at the rafters.

Mystique smiles and embraces her daughter in law, giving her a kiss on the cheek. She and the woman begin speaking in hushed German, exchanging a conversation you can only vaguely follow.  Annabelle seems quite familiar with the place, quickly finding a beer stashed in an old-fashioned ice box and popping it open before resting in front of the crackling fireplace.

Kurt’s gaze nervously flicks between yourself, his mother, and back to you. "The Blackbird hasn't flown in years. And you said things have 'changed',” his statements come quicker, led by growing trepidation. “Why didn't my mother use Charles to contact me? Why is my sister here?"

You pause, trepidation slowing your tongue as you consider the effect of your words. Breaking it to them fast and hard might make them panic. While you could appreciate the desire to stay safe in isolation and mobility, you also had come to recognize some dangers could only be repelled in numbers.

Start slow. “Well, fortunately for us one of your sisters is a great mechanic. Mary kept the bird in shape just in case,” you deliberately pause again. “We brought her here because we’ve been making rounds. Shadowcat is back watching the bird right now while we talk, with two kids - Arctic and Angel. Don’t know if you know them. Havok’s back at base with Magneto, Cyclops, and Caliban.”

You let him put the pieces together.

"...." Kurt stares at you for a moment before glancing at his wife and daughter. "How long do we have to pack?" He asks quietly.

“We weren’t followed, near as can tell, but I wouldn’t wait around.”

"..." He nods slowly. "Can you step outside for a moment? I would like to talk to my family, privately," he looks down, muttering. "This...this is my worst nightmare. I have to – I have to try and help Talia understand the world she's about to step into. The one that took her mother's life."

You nod respectfully, taking yourself elsewhere. Some things were your business - this wasn’t one of them. Being extra respectful of the family's privacy, you wander out into the snow beyond immediate range of your heightened senses, your hardened form more than adept at moving through the snow at a speed that would terrify any normal men. It reminded you of home, long ago...bounding through the snowy woods at night with Victor, playing around pine groves.

As you wander the area, you spot a large stone nearby, clearly carved into a sort of tear-drop, conical shape, the tip pointing upwards at the cloudy sky. You enjoy the taste of clean, crisp air, so divorced from the touch of man it feels almost alien to you now. No pollutants, no scent of unwashed flesh or the copper-pipe taste of blood on your tongue...nature, unspoiled.

It’s beautiful, but lonely. The thought of Victor only makes you ache - would he remember places like this, the times shared together, when you met again? Where would the holes in your memories overlap? Where would yours begin and his end?

Would he even remember enough of you to love you? You growl and rub at your eyes, shoving the thoughts away. Picking the stone as a distraction, you move closer to examine.

The stone stands about three times the height of a man, and one side of it has been the subject of intricate carvings. You see two crude faces carved into the surface, a bearded man with a helmet that covers the eyes and nose wielding a hammer, and a beastly face with toothy maw and claws. There are many runes written across the surface of the stone, but in a language you cannot read.

“Hngh,” you grunt, running your fingers over the runes. Wasn’t German, that was for sure. Nor did it look recent. Some kind of story, conveyed through glyphs? Or maybe a place of worship.

Perhaps Kurt had a clue. One could only imagine that he had spent a lot of time exploring the mountainous area where he lived. A slight rustling behind you captures your attention, and you find a hawk sitting in the tree, watching you carefully. Curious, since you knew them to be nervous things who didn't often inspect creatures such as you.

You watch it right back, tilting your head to the side. “See sumthin’ interesting, wings?”

Deciding to test its boldness, you take several deliberate steps closer.

The hawk chirps, tilting its head to the side to regard you. It's definitely not scared of you...

“...” That wasn’t natural. At all. Your claws stab out from between your knuckles, knees bent in preparation for a leap. The hawk makes an odd noise and immediately takes off, flying high into the sky beyond your reach. It spins through the air before making a beeline north.

You frown at the vanishing shape in the sky, pulling your claws back inside. Something didn’t feel right. Or you were being paranoid.

There were only consequences if you were wrong about one of those things. You rush back to the Wagner home.

Bursting inside, you find the family in a tableau of debate and discussion - Frozen in conflict as Annabelle rubs her temples, Kurt shouts at his mother, Talia cries, and Ofelia tries desperately to keep the peace.

But when they see the look on your face, they all know there's no more time. "...Ofelia, Talia, pack your things," Kurt says quickly. "We have perimeter traps to make sure we can't be snuck up on from the ground, but we can't be sure from the air."

Annabelle downs her beer and stands. "I'm going back to the Blackbird to monitor the radar," she declares, disappearing in a cloud of smoke. You linger near the entrance, eyes focused on the outside and the sky. The urge to pop your claws again nags at your better sense, but you resist. Such a gesture would only enflame further panic, to say nothing of the possible reaction from the kid.

“I don’t know for sure it was anything. But it felt wrong. Learned not to ignore those feelings,” you address Kurt without looking. “That place I found was weird. Stone with carvings and faces on it. Don’t suppose animals just act...off, around it?”

"Err... No, that's just an old relic," he replies, confused. "It was left behind from thousands of years ago, commemorating a battle between a storm god and a beastly monster that was summoned by the Romans when they were invading."

Kurt shrugs. "But in the end, it's just a rock. A historical marker."

“Hngh,” you grunt, changing topics. “Talk didn’t go great, huh? Been there. Family makes simple stuff complicated, and the complicated impossible.”

“‘Fer what it’s worth, I’m sorry this was brought into your world. I don’t know the history you and your ma have,” you sigh. “But I can tell she is too.”

"...I thought I was done fighting their war. After Talia lost her mother, I was done. I couldn't do it anymore," Kurt scoffs bitterly. "I've got to pack...but thank you, I appreciate your concern. I guess we're going to get to know each other pretty well now." Something in his voice communicates he now knows about Charles.

You nod slowly. “Guess so.”

As Kurt departs to attend to the hurried dismantling of his quiet life, you seek out Mystique.

Mystique is standing by the window, keeping a watchful eye on the horizon. "At the very least, you've gotten them moving. Talia was in tears when Kurt told her the news." The woman murmurs. "I'm doing it again... I'm destroying his life."

“...I wanna say that’s not true,” you begin carefully. Being careful was something you were getting better at, lately. “I know you’re not someone who’d ever hurt their own intentionally. But maybe intentions don’t matter, in the end. Maybe you’re responsible.”

You join her in watching the perimeter. “Why do you feel responsible? What choices do you know you could’ve made different?”

"I could have realized that Erik was wrong. That this war...it doesn't call for..." She touches her face. "He thought that because our very existence was threatened, that made everyone a soldier. That we were all fighting for survival, whether we liked it or not. He didn't discriminate, even with his own children. He taught them to be warriors. I let him do it because I let him turn me into a warrior too. Charles softened the worst of it... I'm sure without him, Kurt and Anna would never have decided to leave us, to try to live."

“If you could, what would you teach them now?” You ask softly.

She shrugs helplessly. "To be... Human, I guess. Not to hide who they are, but to live."

You could empathize with that. The desire to be...seen, without fear or shame. If a tree fell in the forest, does it matter if it makes a sound? If a life exists in solitude, never touching the things that could be experienced behind survival, was it ever lived? Mystique knew her answer. So maybe there was some hope left.

“My mom told me, when I was mad at her...which was more times than I’m proud of...that being a parent is about giving the best you can for the life you made, then finding out your best wasn’t quite the best you could’ve done. Over and over again. What separates good parents from the bad ones is what you do with all the mistakes when you can’t take them back and you’re going to make new ones.”

You consider the woman beside you, breathing steady and calm. “You made a mistake, with your boy and your girl. It’s true. And how you decide to live with that is something you gotta figure out for yourself. But...” you set your brow, determined. “You came here anyway. Knowing how it would feel. What it would cost you. You’re owning up to what you were part of.”

“And you’re lucky...” you glance to the empty rafters. “That someday, maybe, you can get a second chance. Talia has her whole life ahead of her. And she has a grandmother who loves her. A grandmother who can show her the way. Don’t rob her of that because you don’t think you can be better than your mistakes.”

Mystique listens to you as talk, turning away from the horizon to watch you as you give your advice. Perhaps Charles had made the right decision after all, she thought. Perhaps sparing this man was what they needed.

Before she can respond, Talia teleports between you, perched atop your shoulder. "Daddy says you've gotta clean the porch before we go. We're not leaving it all stinky and gross like that."

You scoff, the sudden emotional whiplash leaving you dizzy and amused. “Alright, little miss. Could you grab me a mop, please?”

"Hmph, fine." She 'ports you across the room and who knows, you might just vomit again.

**_ XxXxX _ **

["No time to waste," Mystique said to her son as he surveyed the now emptied cabin where he'd lived for years with his daughter and her step-mother.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j4NLv-KcpPs) "We've got to get back to the states and figure out our next move. I know this has been hard, Kurt. But we...you'll be back, soon. I promise. This won't be forever."

Kurt sighs, closing his eyes. His daughter and his wife were already in the jet. He just... Wanted to have a memory of something good to take with him. "I know. I know." He gave a wry smile. "It's just... Part of who we are. Can't stay in one place for too long. Should have expected this day was coming sooner or later."

With a sigh, Nightcrawler tosses a duffel bag over his shoulder and turns to touch you and his mother on the shoulder - in an instant you find yourself wobbling uncertainly inside the blackbird, trying to get your bearings as the others settle in and strap into the seats. Mystique heads up to the cockpit, settling in next to Annabelle as the engines roar to life.

"We're going to take a northern trajectory out of here. Hopefully no one saw us come or go." She says over the plane's intercom. "Get comfortable, everyone."

Talia seemed to be fully over her emotional breakdown about leaving, chattering excitedly with Angel about his wings. He smiled with a bit of a wince as he extended them to their full length. You could see feathers twinge from the pain in his damaged wing.

Kurt sat next to his wife and stroked her hand gently while murmuring to her. Your sensitive ears thankfully couldn't pick anything up over the roar of the engines.

You take a moment to badger Arctic, nodding pointedly at Talia and Angel, although you can barely hear your own words to him. “Should go show off a little. Help the kid adjust.” You trusted him, at least, to be the one member of X-Force anybody would take a shine to. Though you’d absolutely be keeping that to yourself.

Arctic looks up pensively, nodding and moving to the other end of the cabin to show the young girl his abilities with the power of ice. She ooh-ed and ahh-ed as he displayed little ice sculptures with a flourish of his hands.

You take a seat next to Shadowcat and lean back, stretching your legs out.

"...Looks like you're really getting the feel for how our little band of broken toys works." Kitty says tonelessly as you relax next to her. She looks tired, but talked like the most tiresome thing was some insidious voice in her head, telling her how this could all go wrong. "That's how it starts. I know that look." She stares at Talia. "That's how those boys looked at us, once upon a time."

The Blackbird lurched as it initiated vertical takeoff, rumbling aggressively as it rose over the tops of the pines.

“They still get those looks, sometimes,” you point out softly, palms flat against your knees. “It’s not too late for them. Or her. They don’t have to wind up like us.”

"Soldiers in an endless war?" Shadowcat chuckles darkly. "That's what we are... They say En Sabah Nur is the oldest mutant there ever was, if you believe in that sort of thing. Charles said there once was a cult trying to bring about his return, but they were just being manipulated by the Shadow King. Radicals for his own use."

"But it goes back on and on and on... We have to fight for our place in this world. Because we were born with something we barely even understand." She looks at her own knees. "And it doesn't always work for us."

With a sudden acceleration, the aircraft shoots forward, zipping towards the horizon. You compensate for the gees, not leaning too far into the legless girl. You wonder about En Sabah Nur’s legend, and if it runs true with what your grandfather had said. It was entirely possible that he, in fact, was the oldest known mutant in history. Given every indication he’d been kicking a long time before the “blue cunt” rose up among the sands.

Even then, mutants had been waging war - and on each other at that. Could you really say or believe there’d ever be an end to it all?

The look at her absent legs makes you frown. Remembering her earlier words, you tentatively put one hand on her knee. “You’re not a broken toy, Cat.”

She twitches slightly at the touch. "I lost control of my powers and I lost my legs," she replies bluntly. "The irony is so strong it's unbelievable. To the mundane people my power is so intrinsic to who I am, it marks me for life. But because of my powers, I lost my own goddamn flesh and blood legs. They defined my identity for me, then took it away. In so many ways."

"In the Hellfire Club, they...admired...my ability to persevere. They didn't see me as a liability. They didn't feel like they had to ‘protect’ me," Shadowcat spits the word bitterly. "I... I know they were bad people. That they were doing things for themselves, not for any real goal. But it felt good. It felt good to be powerful again."

"Warren Worthington could act like he was a mover and shaker, but all he was, was just a _wallet_. Too stupid to realize he was being played, that the crippled little mutant he talked down to was so much more powerful than he could even see," Kitty reflects with a dark smile. "I could steal their secrets and pull the strings. My power stopped feeling like a curse."

She looks at the boys. "Is it so wrong for them to be like us, then, James? To feel confident? Strong? Imagine what Angel felt when he suddenly held his father's fate in his hands. His father who had abused him, hated him. Controlled him."

You close your mouth before you can speak hastily, teeth clamping shut as a retort boils up from the pit of your stomach to seethe acidly against the enamel. You swallow the reflexive indignance back inside, where it can be unhelpful in solitude, and really consider her words.

You know where Shadowcat is coming from. You know, personally, the satisfaction of turnabout against poisonous snakes like Worthington where you looked into their eyes and they’d looked into yours and both of you understood - he got what he deserved.

But what about Angel? Had he gotten what he deserved, too? Had he deserved to be the one to kill his father, if only by permission? Did any child? You try to imagine being in his position and all you feel in reciprocation is bleak, confused emptiness.

No. You don’t think Angel felt whatever Shadowcat thought he should feel. Not in entirety.

“I think Angel felt a lot of things when he made his choice. And I don’t think strength or confidence was any of them. I think he was confused, because he wanted his father alive even as he wanted to get away from him forever. I think he was scared, because he’d never held a life in his hands before and wasn’t prepared for what that meant. I think he was angry, because Worthington being there at all was part of what created that mess. And because his father should’ve loved him better than he did and now he’ll never be able to. I think he felt like God, and realized how alone that made him.”

You exhale slowly, eyes glittering dark against the light. “Confident? Strong? What even _are_ those things? A trick. Illusion. Confidence can be broken. Strength can be taken away. If that’s all your identity is, then it can be taken away easy,” you snap your fingers. “Like _that_. That’s the life we chose, and look what it did to us. No. No, being like us isn’t what they should want to be. Look at you - do you _feel_ any stronger than when you started again?”

Kitty stares at you disbelievingly, her voice hitching, something wanting to react with anger. Or indignation. "...Goddamn it," She concedes quietly, painfully. You could...feel, yes, you could _feel_ the conflict within her. She _wanted_ the lie. She wanted to feel bigger than all of the terrible, broken parts of inside of her.

You could feel the vibrations in her diaphragm. The palpitations of a heart drinking in adrenaline. Taste the salt of tears she tried to blink away. Who had given you the right, you thought she might say. The right to dismiss every defense she'd built in a few short moments. With a few little words, you had struck her deeper than you might have realized.

Your words upset her. But she was used to her pain. They were well-acquainted and she knew how to snuff each birth cry in its crib. A few moments after she closed her eyes, the trembling within her ceased.

"I am what I had to become to survive." She replies, her voice just slightly colored by an emotional rasp. "For them to be better, the world has to be better. And who will change it? Who has...who has the raw power to change the world? This world...this world will devour them if they lower their guards. It almost devoured me. It almost devoured Kurt, and Rogue, and Mystique. It devoured the Professor. It devoured so, so many..." Shadowcat squeezes her leg.

"The war goes on and on and on.... And it never changes. It just devours us. It waits for us to think that things could change. And that's when it strikes." She mumbles.

“If we wait for the world to be a better place for us to fight for, we’ll be waiting a long time,” you reply. You can see her pain. See the way she holds it close, wound tight as barbed wire around a broken heart, holding it together as it also stabbed thorny points into the red flesh. Sometimes, squeezing your pain beneath a clenched fist was the best you could do, when letting go of it would leave you with nothing at all.

When you were already hurting, it was easier to face being hurt again. One pain was as good as another. “War doesn’t change,” you agree grimly. But then your tone shifts. “But the people fighting it can. Look around you. Those people who were almost swallowed, they’re still here. They’re different from who they were, even if they don’t want to say so. Mystique’s changed. Kurt has a family. Rogue’s lived a life. And the Professor, he....” you close your eyes. “He didn’t die for nothing. Someone else came back from being swallowed, because of him. Someone the war took.”

“You know what I think?” You look her in the eye, feeling certain and true in a way unlike anything you can recall. “I think you’re right, that the world can’t be changed by one person alone. Nobody has that strength. Divided, we’re nothing.”

“Together...” you grin, showing teeth. “We’re the eternal tide against the stubborn shore. It doesn’t matter what the cliffs think when the waters come - they’ll fall down all the same. Because the world can make sense when we force it to.”

Kitty rests her head against the hull of the cabin. "You sound like the opposite of my grandfather. He was very Jewish," she explains with a fondly amused expression. "Whenever he saw something he didn't like, he'd just stand there and...tilt his head a little." She does so, her curly locks falling down one shoulder. "Tilt his head a little, squint, tilt it the other way."

"He did this for years, I remember. One time, after I watched him peering at a particularly bad street fight... I asked him, 'Grandpapa, why do you do that?'"

She pauses, the corners of her eyes crinkling up. "And he would say, 'Ah, _hintele_ , I was just looking for it'. And I was so confused, I asked, 'Looking for what, Grandpapa?' He squinted and said, 'One can find paradise in any hell, if we just...tilt our heads just right'."

Kitty chuckles. "Very Jewish. Accept that the world is what it is. It doesn't change. You change to accept what it is. It rubbed off on me, I guess. I just don't think-"

Her sentence is interrupted by a soft whump and the blackbird hitting a bit of turbulence. Everyone paused, glancing at each other in confusion... Before you hear Kurt's heart skip a beat, his blue face turning mildly pale as he stared out the port window. Following his gaze, you turn... And see thick black smoke pouring out of the engine on that wing.

"WE'VE BEEN HIT!" Mystique swears loudly from the cockpit. "We've got to drop to subsonic speeds or the entire wing will be torn apart!"

Kitty stared out the window at the flaming engine, blinking slowly.

[And then slowly started to tilt her head.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vNo1i5REcmc)

“Everybody get secured,” you bark, already throwing on your belt. “We’re in for some chop! Arctic, keep your eyes on the ramp entrance - anything tries coming in and you flash-freeze them!”

"Right!" He says. Talia was already wailing, poor kid, but Kurt was quickly strapping her back in with the speed of an experienced parent.

"Where the fuck did that come from?!" Annabelle hisses as Mystique starts juking and weaving, just in time for your enhanced eyes to catch a streak of silver just barely miss the other engine. High-velocity projectile.

Gauss technology, You realized with a cold shudder. High-speed railguns shooting depleted uranium shells at supersonic speeds... But who could possibly be capable of accurately targeting a jet with something like that?

"Something on the radar, rising fast. It was flying low, so we couldn't see it... But that shot had to come from miles away!" Annabelle shouts. "Got it on...oh...oh _fuck_."

"...It's a helicarrier..." Mystique breathes tonelessly.

“Pilots, we got radio on this thing?!”

"Yeah," Mystique shouts back. "What, you think we're going to talk them out of shooting us out of the sky?"

“No! I think somebody’s about to call in a fucking favor!” You unclasp your seatbelt and stumble into the cockpit, lifting your Alpha Boy and scrolling into the notes you’d made. One of them: _”Lourde’s frequency. In case of emergency.”_

Tuning the powerful radio, you dial into the correct frequency. As you do so, you spot a Quinjet soar over the clouds, the bay open to reveal Agent Zero carrying a massive rifle over one shoulder and flanked by Sentinels.

You snarl, teeth bared. “Come on, Lourdes, answer the fucking phone!”

You activate your Alpha-Boy and begin hacking into the first Sentinel you see, nearest to Zero. The Alpha-Boy holds true, and one of the Sentinels immediately turns on its master and opens fire. This at least will buy you precious time. The radio crackles to life, though the connection is patchy. _"Who- Krzz -This is- Krrrshhhhh -Hello? Who is th- ssss"_

“X Force, requesting assistance. Over. X-Force, requesting assistance. Over.” You force your voice to remain steady and clear, following procedure. “Aerial incursion with Helicarrier. Over. Assault by Weapon X. Over. Calling in a goddamn favor. Over.”

"...Wait, Weapon X?" Mystique peers at the Quinjet.

“That’s Zero,” you remark quickly. “Mutant, probability powers or some shit. Might as well be a bullet bender. He works for Stryker.”

"Zero. He's the one that..." Mystique says with dawning realization. "Magneto told me about him."

 _"Tri- sszzzk angulating on your- ignal, give me-"_ The radio squawks.

You focus on hacking another Sentinel, desperate to buy time. A second goes rogue, adding to the melee over on the Quinjet as Zero angrily puts down the machine. Once was odd, twice was coincidence... Something was going _very_ wrong with these machines.

"...If we hold still, they'll find us faster," Mystique says slowly. "The VTOL function could help us hover..."

Annabelle balks. "We'll be sitting ducks!"

Mystique hesitates, glancing at you. "Not if we go on the offensive. We'll never have a better opportunity." She looks at the Quinjet. "He could give us an edge over Weapon X."

“What kind of attack you thinking? If I can get in close, I can take him. But he won’t let me close.”

"You, Kurt, and Annabelle. Teleport over, grab Zero, down the Quinjet. Teleport back," she smiles in grim anticipation. "He'll never see it coming."

"Moving target. Won't be easy," Annabelle squints. "But if I use the darkforce, I can maneuver them where we want them to be."

You pause for just a moment, questioning the team selection...then discard your argument. Mystique knew these two better than you ever would, as far as their capabilities. This was her play.

“I’ll let him know,” you declare grimly, stumbling back. “Kurt! We need you up here!”

**_ XxXxX _ **

"We've got ninety seconds before that Helicarrier intercepts us," Annabelle says quickly, rising from her chair and walking up to you and Kurt after Mystique explained the plan. "Less time than that before they start launching more Quinjets. Mystique is going to engage VTOL hover mode, which increases our odds of them making a move to capture us."

Kurt nods, glancing back at his daughter. "That's not going to happen."

Annabelle looks grim. "Absolutely not. I'll 'port to the top of the blackbird and lay down fire on Zero's Quinjet to direct him to where we want him. You 'port over to the jet with James and capture him."

"We can help," Arctic stumbles forward with Angel in tow. "We're not going to make it with a damaged engine, right? We can ice that carrier's deck and make it impossible to lift off!"

Normally that might be a worthy idea, but you knew better. In just a short while Lourdes was going to arrive to teleport you all to safety. "We'd be better off just slamming this thing straight into the helicarrier's bridge when we've gotten everyone off." Annabelle murmurs.

“No,” you tell Arctic, leaving absolutely no room for dissent. “He’s too injured to make that gamble and you’re needed here in case of boarding threats or otherwise. Getting blown up is not the worst that can happen here.”

You sweep your eyes around the room. “We have an exit strategy - Hellfire Club will be arriving on our location to save our asses. If something goes wrong on this op for us, I don’t care what anyone says - you leave. None of us are worth all of you.”

Arctic freezes - Staring at you in shock, then turning to Angel.

But his friend and comrade merely nods, understanding the pragmatism behind your actions. He's already starting down the road you feared he might go.

"We- We c..." Arctic hesitates, but Angel grabs his shoulder and pulls him back towards Talia, who is crying and reaching out to her father.

Kurt smiles at her and kisses his finger, pointing it towards her. "Be back soon my sweet." He murmurs before coming along with you to the cockpit.

Annabelle takes a deep breath and exhales before disappearing. When she reappears above the blackbird, her glare fixates on the enemy jet. Reaching deep within, she accesses the potent energy of the dark force, raining down bolts of crackling ebony fire towards the Quinjet. The SHIELD aircraft jukes and weaves, moving exactly where they want it.

"Get ready." Kurt grabs your shoulder.

"DADDY!" Talia screams.

**_ BAMPF _ **

Suddenly you reappear inside the cabin of the Quinjet, surrounded by six sentinels with the ruined remains of two others on the deck nearby. Zero, armed with a powerful gauss rifle, turns suddenly to face you, shock evident on his features.

It is shock as well that informs his next action, lifting the rifle instinctively and firing in your direction. Sloppy. He's gotten worse over the years, you realize. You dodge the shot, hearing the shell punch through the hull. The craft lurches, sending many of the dumb sentinels flying off their feet while the craft goes into a spin from the sudden hole put through it.

You unleash a guttural roar and charge Zero, claws snapping out from between your knuckles with your own blood staining their already rusty visage.

"SH-" Zero drops the rifle rapidly, pulling a knife from his belt. Kurt, a master of mid-air combat, uncoils his tail and grabs a Sentinel around the neck, flinging it towards two others to send them all crashing against the hull. "We need him alive!" He reminds you, flipping over to dodge an errant laser blast from another machine.

Zero yelps in pain as your claws cut through his forearm and you catch his attempted counterattack. He's gotten soft. Too many missions where he could rely on you and Victor to keep enemies at a nice long distance that he could snipe from.

“Hear that, bub? I ain’t finished with you yet,” you smile darkly and aim your next slash at the fingers of his left hand, ready to follow up with a move that’ll dislocate his right shoulder and carry him up, over you, to slam him right back to the ground.

"GYAAAH!" Zero screams as his fingers are cut from his hand, blood and digits floating through the air above him as he is quickly pinned to the deck. Nightcrawler leaps off of a sentinel to grab you and the captured agent.

"Time to go." The blue-skinned mutant remarks.

**_ BAMPF _ **

Once more you're in the Blackbird, your prisoner safely pinned to the deck here as well. He whimpers as blood spills from his hand, something quickly obscured from Talia's view by Angel's wing.

"Annabelle, get back inside!" Mystique barks into the radio. "We've got him!"

Within moments, Annabelle is inside the jet. "Is the Hellfire Club here yet?" She inquires breathlessly...but there's no sign of Lourdes.

You growl lowly. “The hell is taking them?! That carrier is almost up our ass!”

"Well, teleportation isn't an exact science..." Kurt admits sheepishly.

Beneath you, Zero is on the floor. The agent of Weapon X is contorted in pain, cursing as he tries to stifle the flow of blow from the stumps on his hand. "Wolverine you fucking, _cock-sucking-_ Goddamn it, I'll _kill_ you for this!"

Your voice is oh so soft. “You wanna keep those other fingers you better watch your mouth, Zero,” you adjust your focus to Shadowcat. “Cat. Can you use your powers to survive a fall from this kind of height?”

"Y-yeah? Why?" She asks, just a little bit concerned about what you're planning.

“If Lourdes doesn’t show before that carrier gets to us, I need you to take as many of them,” you gesture to the others. “As you can and drop out of here. I’ll send the jet down, make it look like the engine gave all the way out and you all fell. When you hit the ground, all of you run. Might get away before they close in.”

"R-right." She responds, but luckily for you all that won't be necessary - with a flash of light, Lourdes appears in the cockpit, dropping to her knees in exhaustion as she grabs vainly for something to hold herself up. "S-sorry...h-hard to...find..." she gasps for air, swatting sweaty blue-green locks from her eyes "After this...don't owe you any favors..."

“Fuck, after this I’ll owe _you_ two beers and a damn rub-down. Let’s just get out of here,” you look to Kurt and Rogue, conscious of the other mutant’s state. “Could the two of you boost her, somehow? Sync up?”

"Doesn't work like that." Kurt says immediately. "If we mixed our teleports, we'd probably end up somewhere we can't come back from. Trust me, there's a lot about our 'port you don't know about because you aren't conscious for the time it happens."

Nevertheless, the whole lot of you gather around Lourdes. The queen of the Hellfire Club takes a deep breath, throwing her hands out and encompassing you in an orb of bright white light....

And when the light vanishes, you find yourself standing in a forested meadow, sometime in the middle of the day. Earlier than the time in Germany. Lourdes wavers on her feet and collapses, unconscious. Annabelle as well wavers, grabbing her head as she tries to regain her balance. After a few moments her black hair turns a reddish brown, signaling that Annie is back. "What the-" She blinks, looking around the area. "...Where the fuck are we- KURT?!"

You stumble as well, tripping over Zero – and coincidentally kicking him in the balls – as you recover your equilibrium. The aforementioned secret agent groans as you kick him in the balls. Low blow, James, low blow.

Eyes wild, you throw your head from left to right, counting heads. “Everybody here?”

Doing a quick headcount - Mystique, Angel, Arctic, Shadowcat, Annie, Kurt, Talia, Ofelia, Zero - Yup, you're all here in one piece.

"..." Mystique looks around warily. "Where are we?"

You pause, raising your voice for a moment. “Everyone, quiet. I need to listen.”

You smell a city nearby - the cocktail of concrete, oil, and other acrid odors confirms it. You distantly hear cars as well, passing by on a nearby highway. Scanning around you, you also see poison ivy - native to North America and not found elsewhere. Likely you're in a densely wooded area nearby a city. Probably hasn't seen any development here.

“North America,” you answer Mystique’s question after a time. “We’re close to a highway. That direction,” you point. “I say we head there, you flag someone down, get their car, we drive whatever way we need to, to get to base. You think that’s good?”

"Better than being chased by a helicarrier," she answers, relieved. "Make sure he doesn't bleed to death, I'll get us a ride." She starts to walk away before stopping, glancing back. "...All of you. You’ve done great. These last few days have been some of the hardest I can remember, but you've all performed admirably. Thank you."

She disappears into the brush.

You return your attention to Zero, jaw set as you stare at his stumps. “Arctic, grab me the med-kit. Then take perimeter watch.”

The young lad nods, quickly gathering up the required item and tossing it to you. Meanwhile, Kurt fills Annie in on what the fuck is happening while he consoles his daughter. Shadowcat lays back on the grass, pulling blades out in clumps and throwing them into the air.

You roughly pull Zero up into a sitting position, crouching down beside him. “Hand,” you command, preparing he necessary materials to treat your handiwork. “Hah. Hand-i-work.”

Zero reluctantly puts his hand in your tender care, glowering at your bad joke. As you play medic, you return his glare with one of your own. “Don’t suppose you’ve been brainwashed and I can feel bad for wrecking your shit.”

"No," Angel says, walking up behind you. "He isn't. I remember that day, when he came with... His puppets. He was lucid. Aware. In control." The boy says. He pauses, staring down at Zero emotionlessly. After a moment, the boy kneels down, staring into Zero's eyes. "If you weren't useful to us, I'd tear your head off myself. Good people died because of you."

Zero stares back for a moment before laughing bitterly. "They died because they thought they could strike against us and get away unscathed. Sorry, kid, but your people threw the first punch."

“That so,” you reply coolly, finishing your work. “And what provoked them to that, do you think? Couldn’t be the plague you manufactured by taking a poor girl and turning her into a WMD. Could it.”

"She was too dangerous to be left to her own devices. You knew that as well as anyone, Logan. You knew the dangers that mutants presented," Zero chuckles. "Otherwise, you'd have stepped in when we had Victor wiped for better service. Even you decided it'd be better if you just didn't have to think about it."

He smirks. "You knew your greatest value was as a weapon. You let us make you the best weapon you could be. I don't know where this newfound moral righteousness is coming from, but the Logan I knew certainly didn't have any."

Your eye twitches, the smallest ripple in the placid surface disguising a coming whirlpool. Revulsion bubbles and pops in your chest, black tar splattering against your innards. You’d suspected. Hidden from it. Referenced only in the vaguest terms. But now. You’d thought yourself an animal, at worst. Vicious and cruel, at times, but only so much as could be excused by the curse shared between Victor and yourself. Never...this. Not this.

You hadn’t just failed Victor. You’d murdered him. And then yourself.

“Everything changes, Zero,” you reply after a long pause, the words rolling slowly out of your mouth. “Takes a strong man to deny what’s in front of him. Strong enough man and the denial can last years. Decades. A lifetime. But the truth always wins in the end.”

You do what you do best - take your pain and direct it toward a purpose: the destruction of the enemy. “You know what’s going to happen, Zero. You’re ours, now. You’re not going anywhere. Try to run, I cut your tendons. Try to shoot someone, punch someone, poke someone, I take away your other fingers.”

You stand. “We’re going to question you. You’re going to answer as honestly as you ever have in your life. If you lie, I will know. And you’ll see just how righteous I’m feeling then. You clam up? Don’t wanna share anything. I feed you to Magneto.”

You tilt your head. “You’ve heard of him, of course. Big bad mutant terrorist leader. And he hates race-traitors. Almost as much as he hates anti-mutant humans. Think it’s a Holocaust survivor thing or just his style? I dunno. You don’t play ball and you can ask him, while you’re still capable of speech.”

You smile down emptily at your prey, eyes black and glistening. “You’re a tough guy. You could probably deal with anything I give you, before your body gave out. But him? Oh, bub, let me tell ya. He’s _awful_ creative. So for the time being, you’re gonna sit here, nice and quiet like, and not do anything you’re not told. Or my suggestion to Magneto is that he breaks you by threading metal through your veins.”

Soon, you think, you’ll be sending a message to your grandfather. But for now...

You turn and move away. “Angel. Come on.”

The blond stares at Zero a moment longer before rising and following after you. This whole time, Arctic has been watching... And he doesn't like what he sees. This is... Not something he ever thought he would witness. This war was not one he could ever truly accept.

Shadowcat, for her part, approved. You were putting Zero in his place. You were showing the strength necessary to crush the enemy.

Angel...appreciated your candor. Your power. And he had come to respect you a little bit more.

After a while, Mystique returned with the promise of a ride, and Lourdes reawakened, though exhausted. She would travel with you, until it was time for her to return to the Hellfire Club.


	12. Zero Hour

Awaken the Wolverine

Chapter XII: Zero Hour

 

[ _In the sun-scorched desert of the Negev...two thousand years ago._ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zjupARl4QX0) _The vultures soar after two figures crossing the sands, one willingly...the other unwillingly. He was dragged across the stones and bushes, his blood staining the ground._

_"Why...why are you doing...this?" The man rasped from the ground, begged for a reason. Any reason. He thought his tortures would be finally over...but no. This creature was determined to make the suffering last._

_The creature paused, letting the rope binding his prisoner go slack in his hand. He unfastened his chest plate and let it fall to the ground, to lift his burden. He was dying for water, but he did not need it. It was simply a luxury._

_"I... I am En Sabah Nur...don’t you know what that means?" The prisoner gasped, clawing at the heels of his captor. "I am...a God... I am...the Ever-Present Future of this world..."_

_"If there are gods in this world, I have no doubt you're not one of them,” the creature laughs, kicking away the hand contemptuously. "I guess this is the first time for you, hm? The first time you've really met someone equal to you."_

_The blue-skinned wreck of a man finds the strength to hiss. “There are none equal to En Sabah Nur!"_

_The creature sighs and pulls the rope over his shoulder, continuing to drag the bleeding form across the sands. Heading south by southwest, towards the great desert. "Then you haven't learned the lesson yet, my friend. But worry not... I am an excellent teacher," he chuckles, planting one foot forward, then another. "I am patient. Ever patient. After all...Rome wasn’t built in a day." His mocking laughter rings over the sandy hills as he marches underneath the sun, continuing the lesson._

"Sir?"

The voice brings the man once known as Romulus out of his memories, the old warrior stirring and turning away from his reflection in the window. "Hm? Sorry, lost in thought there,” he smiled flatly as he clapped his aide on the shoulder. "What's up, my friend?"

The aide pushed his glasses up his nose. "We received a message from your grandson, sir. Mr. Howlett."

The old man pauses on his way to refill his glass of whiskey, the corner of his lips flickering in a smile. "...And what does Jimmy got to say to his ol' grandpa?"

**_ XxXxX _ **

A family reunion can often be a moment of joy and celebration, where brothers, sisters, cousins, and family members of all sorts take cheer in their familial bonds. They find that they are as close as blood and spirit, friends and family both.

Other family reunions can be decidedly more...awkward.

What you witnessed was some amalgam of the two. Reunions of family and friends, some of it joyful, some of it...mixed. Annie and Kurt were decidedly cool in their reception of their father's embrace. Erik warmly embraced his daughter-in-law, human though she may be, but even more warmly received his granddaughter into his arms. "How you've grown." He says fondly, squeezing her tight.

But you were interested to see that he was happiest to see...Shadowcat. The two embraced tightly, Kitty even shedding a few tears as she squeezed his neck. "It's good to see you again, Magneto." She mumbled into his shoulder.

"You should never have left, Shadowcat," the old man replied sincerely. "I'm sorry that our actions made you leave."

Angel and Arctic happily reunited with Cyclops, the three friends gushing over their adventures over the past weeks. For the first time since his father's death, Angel actually smiled. He seemed, for a little bit, back to his old self.

Havok came over and clapped you on the shoulder. "You pulled it off. I have no idea how you managed to get them all back in one piece, but you guys pulled off a miracle here. It's great to have everyone back,” he glances at Zero. "Though it seems you brought extras."

You, for your part, have a friend - family, not quite - you’re pleased to see, and clap him right back. “Good to see you, Havok. All in one piece now, huh? Old Zero here’s a familiar face. Led the attack that got me falling in with this bunch. Dumb asshole thought he’d try a second time,” you cast a cool look the agent’s way, his words echoing whenever you saw his face. “He’ll be useful giving us a leg-up on Weapon X. I’m thinkin’ we’ve done enough reacting.”

“Oh. Damn near forgot,” you pull off your backpack from your shoulders and dig around for a moment, past your notebook filled with half-remembered dreams and clearer memories, survival supplies, and other trinkets to pull out a familiar book. _Metamorphosis_ , by Kafka. “It was a good read. Thanks.” You offer it back.

"Heh, glad y'liked it," Havok tucks the book under his shoulder. "And yeah, healed up good while you were gone. Been holding down the fort. Pretty quiet, but Caliban has been finishing what you started, getting this old place back up and running proper. He's down in the bowels right now, trying to hook up an auxiliary generator."

Magneto embraces Mystique while you talk, and the two share hushed words for a moment before the leader of X-Force walks over to you. "You've been on quite an adventure, James. And brought back quite a prize." He bends down to face Zero like a man. "Mm. I couldn't help overhear your comment. We've been reacting a lot, haven't we? A girl goes missing, and we react. They attack us, and we...react. They take one of our own...we react."

His eyes narrow dangerously. "I think it is about time we finish this business. We are free, every one of us. I would like for my family to return to their homes in peace. That will not happen as long as Weapon X continues to hold grudges."

Zero laughs in response, his shoulders bouncing with each chuckle. "Oh, you dumb shits...you don't get it, do you? Your day is long since over. There's no Shadow King anymore, we're doing more with the power of mutants then anyone before us. You've got no chance of undoing what's been done."

“Zero,” you reply silkily - and fuck wasn’t that a stranger’s voice - while your ring finger twitches restlessly. “You’ll have all the time in the world to talk soon. Until then, keep staring at the wall and thinking about what you did wrong.”

"...Ofelia, take Talia downstairs and get settled in." Kurt says nervously, a little unsettled by the atmosphere in the room and having his daughter exposed to it.

Arctic hops up, touching Kurt's wife on the elbow. "I'll uh...show you the way." He murmurs, leading the woman and her daughter to one of the dormitories.

Magneto pauses and turns to Cyclops and Angel. "You go with them. This is a matter for the senior members of X-Force to discuss. Havok, take this traitor to the holding room."

The elder Summers brother nods hesitantly and makes a brisk motion for the younger brother to take Angel and depart. Angel, for his part, glances at you with a small look of defiance....mixed with entreatment. He wanted to stay and silently asked for you to vouch for him.

You hold his look steadily, measuring your options. Weeks ago, Angel had condemned his own father to death. You’d been helpless to stop him from being exposed to that kind of choice, and now the kid was going to have to decide what kind of person he could be that could also live with that.

Shadowcat thought it made him stronger. You’d said otherwise. But then, Zero had so kindly pointed out that you barely knew yourself well enough to make judgements. Much less another person. You were fairly certain that if you spoke up, Mystique might be swayed. Magneto, then, would likely accept.

Havok wouldn’t, though. And him...hadn’t you respected him for that? For drawing a line and saying “Here. No farther.”

And what would you feel? This person you were - if you were really a person at all anymore. You’d said Angel and Arctic and all the young ones needed to be made better than yourself. Did that mean protecting them from the ugliness in front of you or showing them how to avoid it?

“.....” you shake your head, almost imperceptibly. Now was not the time for Angel to be proving himself. If there was anything to prove at all.

Angel frowns for a moment. He's disappointed, as much as a boy can be disappointed by not getting what he wants. But he was a boy raised by Magneto and Charles Xavier, obedient to instructions. He nods back, following Cyclops who complains about missing the good stuff.

"...So we're really going to torture him?" Kurt asks after a moment, glancing between the members of the group. "Is this really how far we've gone? I recognize this might be surprising, since he did put my family at risk, but we've never tortured...another mutant." He finishes lamely.

Mystique and Magneto are silent, grim. They know many secrets and even though they made their children into soldiers, they sought to protect their innocence from some of the grimmer aspects of the long, long war.

It was Annie who broke the silence. "If we woke Jean up, we wouldn't have to torture him."

"That is not happening." Magneto replies immediately, closing that discussion.

Your hazel eyes slide over toward Magneto, curiosity evident. The name strikes you as familiar. “Jean?”

Memory returns to you, an experience from what feels like lifetimes ago. A brilliant burning raptor, a fall from the radio tower. Xavier’s voice. A girl’s voice.

“The girl in the basement,” realization dawns with certainty. “She’s a telepath, isn’t she? Like Charles.”

The room takes on an uncomfortable air. "Jean was Charles' protege." Mystique says slowly, measuring her words with care. "As powerful a telepath as he, and more."

She hesitates. "She was in the same group as Cyclops, Arctic, Angel, Beast... Until an accident happened. They encountered something we'd never seen before while out on a training mission. Jean defeated it, but at such a cost... Charles put her into a coma so that he could heal her safely, without causing damage to anything or...anyone."

Magneto fidgets. "If awoken, she could unleash her power in such a way as to flatten this entire area. It's entirely unpredictable, especially since we have to rely on... Our back up plan to wake her up."

You frown. Alright, that kind of pissed you off. Nobody bothered to tell you that you were sleeping right above a mutant telepath nuke who was ‘unpredictable.’ But then, trust was slow to earn and easy to squander. And you’d started far from the starting line for that journey.

“Okay. Well, I hate to break it to ya, but that coma ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. She contacted me.”

"That's not unheard of. We sometimes hear her, in our dreams. It's usually incoherent. She usually...reaches out for Cyclops," Magneto seems hesitant to volunteer this information, clearly still uncertain to what degree he is willing to trust you. "She stirs from time to time, but always goes back to sleep. Charles said the only way to wake her up was with this." =

He opens a pouch on his belt, revealing a capped syringe. "Pure adrenaline. It'll unlock a gateway he left behind and wake her up. But the sudden jolt could also make her act in ways we didn't expect."

She’s dangerous. Dangerous enough that Magneto thought it was better she stay asleep indefinitely. Through her, you could get Zero to sing by ‘only’ digging through his mind like an old folder, without dragging it out through torture and lie-detection. But the risk was tremendous, and for what? Was the suffering of an enemy operative really worth endangering everyone here?

“We’ll table this discussion for now. We can get what we need from Zero without risking everyone here. And without turning it into a horror show,” you finish with a glance Kurt’s way. “There’s more than one way to crack nuts like Zero,” you turn to Magneto and Mystique. “But I need you to follow my lead.”

Magneto glances at Mystique. "This is more your area of expertise, do you trust-"

"I trust James to have a plan." Mystique says with a short nod. Both her children blink in surprise, but Shadowcat, who has been watching quietly...she only smirks. She knows very well your abilities with words.

The phase-shifter speaks up finally. "Anything I can do to help, James?"

“Glad ya asked. See, I need a bad-cop. And I need someone good at noticing things other people don’t want being noticed,” you raise an eyebrow playfully. “Know anyone like that?”

Shadowcat snickers and uses her powers to help climb up to your shoulder, perching herself coyly. "What do you got in mind, hmm?”

For a moment, you smell something sharp, a flare of frustration. Annie turns away, heading towards the dormitories.

You dismiss the multi-path mutant from your thoughts for the time being. Work needed to be done, and you’d spent enough energy trying to make everyone not hate you for a bit. “Zero talks like he drinks the tap-water, but the guy’s a weasel. He’ll stick with a cause just long enough to see which way the wind’s blowing, then scurry before he gets caught in the hurricane. That means he can be broken without needing to touch him - much.”

“Guy like that, he’s proud. Likes his looks. His money. His status....” you throw a suggestive look at the cat perched on your shoulder. “His hands. Being strong. Confident. Whole identity is built around it. What I need you to do is make him see how easy we can take that away from him. Get him nervous. Thinking about how he’ll never make it back from whatever we leave him as.”

You turn to Mystique. “Good cop. We’ll play it together. Zero knows I can hurt him if I want and knows my history, so he’ll never totally trust what I say. I can’t make guarantees the way you can - you’re senior X-Force. He wants to make a deal, you’re the one he’ll appeal to. And,” you smile faintly. “Let’s be honest. You’re better at being approachable than me.”

Lastly, you turn to Kurt and Magneto. “Kurt, you can sit this one out. Magneto...” you look him up and down. “We’ll call you if things need to get messy. I already told him to be scared shitless of you, so,” you shrug.

Shadowcat wiggles her stumps coyly. "I get the feeling I'm going to be a touch on the nose, but alright. Bad cop it is. I've certainly learned at the feet of the master." She jokes, while Erik coughs with slight discomfort.

Mystique chuckles at the jibe and nods at your instructions. "Makes sense. Magneto is the mad dog barely on the leash. Worst case scenario is we turn him over to my ex and watch the fireworks. I presume that whatever deals we make..." she waits until Kurt has departed to join his sister, although you suspect those ears of his are more sensitive than she realizes. "Well. We agree he's never setting foot outside of here alive?"

Shadowcat nods quickly, the man is already dead to her. Magneto is slightly more hesitant, but he nods as well, crossing his arms over his chest.

You’re half-inclined to agree – Zero was a piece of work and utterly unrepentant. If it was only on you, you’d hardly think twice before icing him…but there is more at stake than your own wellbeing. You pause, thinking of your grandfather for some strange reason. “Heard it said once that when an enemy defies you, you have to bring him steel and fire. But if he bends, you pull him back up. Or nobody ever bends again.”

You adopt your own posture, crossing your arms right back at Magneto. “Nobody ain’t ever gonna surrender to us if we go back on deals. Nobody’s gonna take our word when we ask for a favor. Maybe it sounds like preachy bullshit right now, but there’s a reason you make deals when you’ve got the power not to. If Zero talks, he walks. Conditionally, but we don’t break the deal.”

“Same goes for if we just torture whoever we get our hands on. Rep means something. Maybe not to our enemies, but definitely to potential allies. If Kurt and Havok didn’t have family here, if Arctic had somewhere else to go, you think they’d join up if they knew the kind of shit like torture and backstabbing we’re throwing around? Think that’d make us stronger?”

“If Zero talks...” you repeat again, slowly. Certainly. “He walks.”

Shadowcat fidgets nervously on your shoulder, glancing between you and Magneto. This sudden defiance was... Unexpected. Even Mystique, who proclaimed her trust just minutes before, was uncertain of how to treat this situation.

"You sound like Charles,” Erik says after a moment. "...though less eloquent. He would preach…mercy. But his mercy left the fight unfinished. His mercy led to his death. I will finish this thing to the very end. Weapon X will be torn from the ground, down to the roots, and then they'll all burn."

Magneto turns away, shaking his head. "Take your time with him, James. These moments will be his last, that I assure you."

**_ XxXxX _ **

["So, in all the movies I've seen, the good cop goes first,"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eqm5mhGgYp4) Shadowcat says conversationally as you carry her on your shoulder over to the holding cell where you had first woken up over a month ago. Mystique followed along quietly behind, her appearance shifting to that of a dark-skinned woman with mint-green eyes and a rather curvy build. Long locks of curly hair fell down across her shoulders, the look completed. "But hear me out - you talk to him, get him all smug and confrontational - and then I pop up and pull him through his chair and into the floor."

Magneto's ultimatum didn't seem to perturb the phase-shifter, or Mystique. Only Kurt had seemed to be disturbed by his father's viciousness, and the only one who took great notice of your attempt to counsel Magneto down the path Charles would have taken.

Mystique pauses for a moment, thinking. "Might want to have me hold back. Don't want him to think he's getting the attention of the decision-makers immediately, perhaps."

You absorb the counsel, letting it sit for a moment, then nod your assent. “I _am_ pretty good at making people confrontational,” you admit with a bit of smugness yourself. “We’ll go that way. And hold you back for a bit,” you acknowledge Mystique.

Kitty chuckles and phases down, disappearing into the ground. "I'll be watching." She promises before vanishing entirely.

The shapeshifter pauses at the door. On the other side, Havok had Zero under guard, ready to blast the agent of Weapon X to ash if he so much as twitched the wrong way. Before you opened the door, though, Mystique puts a hand on your arm. "He’s the enemy. James. Don't forget that. This is a war."

“It’s a war,” you agree.

She lets you go, slowly, and nods for you to continue.

You push through the door and let it slide slowly behind you, observing your captive with a steely eye. “Zero,” you greet. “You know what time it is.”

Havok stands off to your left, wreathed in red fire... Even his eyes glow red, like his brother's. He nods to you curtly, not even taking his eyes off his prisoner. Zero sits on the other side of the table, where you once sat, staring at you for a long moment before smirking.

"Judgement day," He remarks drolly, holding up his bound hands. "Am I to make my last confession to you? It would be poetic, I suppose. After all these years, all the missions, all the whispers you heard me say without even the slightest inkling of what they meant..."

He leans forward slightly, "I am _sooo_ curious how you managed to break the conditioning. A lot of time, money, and research went into figuring that trick out...getting around your pesky little regenerative factor."

“Mm...” you grunt thoughtfully, sliding your chair back with a metallic screech and sitting slowly. You watch Zero for a time, letting his words hang in the cool and musky air. He smells like gunpowder, sweat, blood, and piss - the last being an inevitability given X-Force’s lack of willingness to grant bathroom privileges. He radiates acrid self-assuredness, arrogance justifies by experience that only recently had been contradicted.

You’d be adding more evidence to that pile shortly. Humility was for one’s own good, sometimes. “I’m not here to talk about the past, Zero. I’m here to talk about now. And it’s in your best interest if you tell me what I need to know before things have to get uglier.”

"Well, I guess you're not saying that out of a fondness for times long by," he chuckles, placing his hands on the table. "So once again...you’re showing an uncharacteristically _charitable_ side of you I haven't seen before...." the other mutant squints slightly. "So perhaps you didn't break the conditioning at all...so to speak."

You twitch. “Or perhaps you know as little about me as I do about you.” It’s rather easy to give Zero the ammunition he needs when his words are, in fact, successfully aggravating you.

"I've known you for twenty-five years, Wolverine. I think I know you pretty well," Zero replies with irritating certainty. "James Howlett, born in Canada, though oddly has fought in a lot of American wars, it seems. Emigrated to the United States in the early 20th century, fought in the Pacific Theatre of WWII, fought in Korea, fought in 'Nam. Worked as an enforcer for Pablo Escobar until you got bored, came back to the U.S...and then he found you. Stryker."

"Aliases include... James Galveston, Logan Blum, Hugh Howlett, James Reed, John Reed, Thomas Logan... Amongst others. Only known relative is Victor Creed, aka the Sabertooth,” he cocks an eyebrow. "Am I close?"

“Real good textbook memory you got there. Bet you aced all those multiple-choice quizzes,” you roll your eyes. “Knock it off, Zero. If I’m being unusually charitable right now you should be taking advantage, not pissing me off.”

He shrugs, unconcerned. "Maybe this isn't my first rodeo. Good cop always walks in first, after all."

“Great. So you know how this works. Right now, I’m the only person standing between you and a world of pain. And you can poke at that all you like or you can roll with it and start telling me every bit of intel you have on Stryker and Weapon X. Cuz, see, maybe I know some things about you too. Like I know that you’ve been slipping. That you got caught. That Stryker probably still thinks the Professor is alive, and if you come sniffing back now he ain’t gonna trust you worth a shit because hey...”

You smile. “Conditioning, right? Something else I know. You ain’t really Stryker’s lapdog. See, you talk a good game like your tail wags for him, but you ain’t never walked into a room you didn’t have an eye on the exit for. You’re not the type who’s gonna last long suffering for someone who wouldn’t suffer for you.”

This time, Zero twitches. "...So the old man really _did_ die that day," he breathes, his gaze narrowing. "You killed him, when you were in the mansion. Did he do this to you...? No. No, that's not possible. If he could have retaliated, he'd have just turned you into a vegetable."

"...You realize you've practically guaranteed I will die though? Giving me that information means I won't leave this room alive." He smirks slightly, back on comfortable footing. "So one way or another, I'm a dead man. Why should I give you or Magneto the satisfaction?" He pauses, and then settles back. "Besides, you give me too much credit. Do you really think Stryker would trust a mutant with his real secrets? To him, I'm just a weapon. Expendable. Whatever information I have will just send you to your death."

"... Well, the others. You'll just live with it." He chuckles.

You grit your teeth. “That’s interesting, Zero. So you’re saying that you don’t want to tell me what you know - which is little, surely - for my own good? I didn’t know you cared.”

Zero laughs. "Hey, what can I say? A man gets fond of even the most mangy of mutts if he sticks with them long enough. Dogs are just too darn cute. You start to talk t'them, even when you know they don't understand a damn word you're saying. You and Victor...you'd just stand and stare while I prattled on and on."

“You’re selling yourself short. All those whispers, little things you told me because you didn’t think to care if I knew. You think Stryker didn’t think the same way about you?”

“What, you think I’ve been conditioned too?” He asks, grinning widely.

“Only by your own assholery. Habits are conditioning, too. Long enough time, they become our collars and leashes. Tug you this way and that way when you hit a certain crossroad.”

You hum ponderingly. “But, see, Zero, the thing about dogs you mentioned has got me thinking. Can an old dog learn new tricks?” You watch him curiously. “Honestly. If you answer me one thing I ask you today, why not this one? You think a man can change himself? Reinvent what he knows, pick up the shattered pieces and make something new of himself? You think anyone can?”

Zero pauses, staring at you for a few moments. He seems almost puzzled by the question, he wasn't expecting it. He was enjoying the cat and mouse, annoying you until you unleashed the blond man with glowing red eyes on him...burned him until he screamed. It didn't matter. It just meant he won.

"...Well if we're going to talk about philosophy, Wolverine, you could get me a cup of coffee," he snorts after a moment. "What's with this existentialist bullshit? C'mon, if you're gonna fuck with me, at least make it fun."

You nod slowly, holding in your grin. “If you insist.”

You tap your knuckles on the table, twice. Havok glances at you briefly. Zero exhales, holding his confident smirk, staring you down and preparing for the worst…

And then a hand touches his leg.

"What the _fuUUAH_ -" Zero falls through the chair, through the floor, and vanishes into the concrete, his scream echoing briefly in the small room.

Havok blinks for a moment. "Oh," he almost sounds disappointed. “I was hoping I'd be bad cop."

You scoff. “The only bad cop you’ll ever convince me you played is the kind with a pretty lady and some handcuffs.”

The elder Summers brother looks almost offended. "Did you just call me a male stripper?"

“No, but I might be implying it,” you grin ruefully at him. “Sorry, I’m a little... _pissy_ right now.”

You glance at the floor. “Wonder how long she’s gonna keep him down there.”

"...Good question," Havok muses for a moment. "I'm just saying, I've been cooped up in here for weeks, and the moment we finally have something interesting happen, you let Kitty take the marquee role. I thought we were tight, man."

He shakes his head, mock disappointed…until he stops, something in his eyes showing something just clicked into place in the back of his mind. He glances at you meaningfully. " _Sooooo_. Did you and Kitty get to know each other while you were out running around the world?"

You stare blankly back at the elder Summers brother. “Well, yeah? She was the first we picked up, had weeks to chat. She’s a real badass kind of person.”

"Oh? That's all?" He raises an eyebrow. "Mhmm, ok then."

He glances back at the floor, and you barely hear him murmur, "Thought we were tight, man."

“....what are you trying to ask me, Alex?” You have a sneaking suspicion and it’s leading you down lines of thought you aren’t prepared to consider.

"Nothing, nothing, don't worry about it," he replies, bouncing on his heels and humming nonchalantly.

“Wh- Oh. Oh, dammit. Look, I -“ you stumble over your words, completely taken aback as you realize he is indeed implying what you feared he was implying. “It ain’t...like that. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Shadowcat’s hotter than a fuckin’ Puff the Magic Dragon cutting through Vietnam brush, and I sure as shit appreciate a woman who takes all the shit she has and asks the waiter for another plate. But...I don’t think she’s, uh, quite into me like that. And I don’t know if I’m someone she ought to be into.”

“And...” you lower your voice, almost superstitiously eying the walls as though X-Force’s commander might hear you. “I mean, man, you think Magneto hates me now? Fuckin’ I decide I wanna shack up with her, I wake up with brass _in_ my balls.”

Havok raises his hands in response, trying not to laugh. "Sure man, sure, whatever you say-"

"AGGGH," Zero pops up through the floor, scrambling and clawing at the ground. "HH- HH- HH-" He breathes hard, gulping down air that had previously been nonexistent. The reek of urine was stronger now as the man tries to recompose himself.

He glares up at you balefully. "Fucking cheap trick, Wolverine. It won't work twice," Zero growls, trying to get up. "I already told you, I'm not fucking talking and you're not...not letting me out. So just kill me and get it over with."

“...Kill you?” You adopt a confused look. “But Zero. Killing you was never the worst thing that could happen. See, I know you didn’t answer my question earlier. And that’s fine. I respect that. But you might want to start thinking what your answer is. Because...” your trail your eyes around the room meaningfully. “It’s about to become relevant.”

"...What the fuck are you talking about, Wolverine," the Asian man mutters, getting off the ground. "Stop dancing around the bullshit and just threaten me already, I'm not some fucking JV-league asshole you can just yank around."

Seeing Zero so rattled, reeking of piss and fear and rage, gathers the shaken pillars of your confidence and reinforces them with vindictive satisfaction. You’d played it Shadowcat’s way, skirting vulnerability and defensiveness - at the cost of some very stinging remarks that you were not going to forget any time soon. And she’d taken Zero’s burgeoning satisfaction and comfort and dealt a vicious wind-chasing blow. You liked a woman who could break balls. Just so long as she was gentle with yours...damn Havok for putting the idea in your head.

But now that you’d shaken Zero, you had to sweeten the pot. He’d take near-anything right now, knowing as you knew that he was a dead man with Charles’ death leaked. A stupid slip on your end, sloppy. You’d been baited into proving yourself to the enemy and nearly ruined the whole effort.

Lucky for you, you’ve gotten good at improvising. Zero needed a reason to believe he could possibly get out alive...and you were going to give him one.

“Alright, bub,” you chuckle and lean forward as Zero reorients himself, one again drumming your fingers on the table. “Here’s my threat: right now, you’re a prisoner here filled with information I need. I’ve got a lot of different ways to make you talk, but you’re damn certain you’re never making it out of here alive, so why bother? Makes sense. But see...you’ve got an out, Zero. You just can’t see it.” You look around, humming. “Faith, Zero. Believing in something you can’t tell is there. The people here had faith in Charles Xavier. And, thanks to me, the people outside here have faith in him too. Faith that he’s alive.”

You lock eyes with him. “You don’t get it, do you? I said it before - your credibility ain’t worth shit to anyone you’d care to bark to. Go ahead. Tell everyone you see that Charles isn’t really alive. See how far you get. The harder you try, the better you help the story. Every breath out of your pissant little mouth just breathes more life into the legend of Charles Xavier. And you wanna know why?”

You grin and pop the claws of your right hand, waving them airily in Zero’s face. “Yeah. Nasty, aren’t they? Killed more men than you know. And they sure could kill you. Magneto definitely can, too - and everyone knows it. Just like you know it and won’t talk because of it.”

You press them to his throat, right against the Adam’s apple. Then, with a twitch, slide them instantly back into your forearm. You stare at your former co-worker and ex-handler seriously. “Who just stopped me from killing you? A conscience? Bullshit. Wolverine doesn’t have one. Neither does Magneto for traitors and enemies. But...” you pause meaningfully. “ _Charles Xavier_ would let you go. And Charles Xavier, like you said, would’ve fried me to save his own life - or better yet, turn me into X-Force’s buddy. And he’d save you because despite you being a heartless sack of shit you’re still a mutant and that means you’re worth something.”

“So, see, Zero. You have an out. And we have reasons to give you that out. Whether it’s so you can scurry away like a smart man or do our work spreading misinformation to the enemy,” you raise an eyebrow. “But only if you talk.”

You let that sit for a time, allowing Zero to think on what you’ve said. Then, you sigh. “But you wanted me to threaten you. But we know that’s not how the good cop rolls. So I’ll leave that to my friend. You’ve met her before. Like I said, Zero...” you stare him down. “Death isn’t the worst thing we can do to you.”

A hand reaches up out of the floor, grabbing Zero by his bound wrists and jerking him suddenly. The assassin yelps as he falls off balance, hanging over an unseen precipice. Shadowcat slowly rises up, holding his hands down beneath the concrete floor. "Hello there,” she greets warmly, not smiling at all. "I've been talking with my friend here about you. He's been telling me about some of your shared...history."

Zero sneers in response, struggling for breath from the awkward position he's in. "Did he tell you about my magnum dong? Because you can suck it, bitch."

Shadowcat's lips quirk in the slightest smile – she’s going to enjoy this. And she wants him to know it. "Let's make something clear, Agent Zero," she disappears into the floor and drags him down, his next cry cut off as he vanishes. After a few moments they resurface, Shadowcat sticking out of the wall as she holds Zero dangling by his wrists. "You ought to know who I am. I'm not some starry-eyed X-Force freedom fighter. I'm a sitting member of the Hellfire Club. I'm the **Black Knight**."

She releases him, letting him collapse to the floor with a disdainful look. "Look at me, Zero. Do you think because I'm a woman I'm merciful?" She sticks her legs out, wiggling them. "That because I'm a cripple, I'll be soft? No. It means I understand what it means to be seen as...vulnerable."

Pryde disappears into the wall, but her voice rings out. "To be seen as _prey_."

She reappears beside the sprawling man. "I know how much it hurts to lose something as intimate as a limb. I lost both my legs, and...it almost destroyed me...” Kitty nods slowly. "I could barely think, everything just hurt. I only survived because people cared about me...but you? Who do you have, Zero? James wants to let you leave alive, and sure, maybe he can talk Magneto into that... But it's not like we can just let you go in one piece, you know that. You're too much of a threat. So if I take your hands...well. I know intimately what I'll be doing to you. The lifetime of instinct and comfort that's totally erased. The feeling that you're totally useless and broken. That you'll never be whole. The phantom itching. The phantom pain. Waking up and thinking for a moment that you have them back, but...no. They're still gone."

She grins, leaning in. "And who is going to save you from this hell, Zero? Your boss? You already told us he doesn't give a _fuck_ about _you_. You're disposable. Do you think they'll even waste a bullet to put you down? Maybe they’ll stick you on a gurney and split you open like a science pig. Or just shove you in a corner somewhere to slowly rot-"

"OKAY!” Zero shouts, shifting away. "JESUS! Enough! You-you can stop!" He glances back at you. "You psychotic BITCH-"

Before he can finish the sentence, she drags him back down into the dark.

A very large part of yourself is deeply impressed by what you’ve been given a front row seat to. Shadowcat wasn’t showing the slightest bit of mercy, hesitation, or weakness - and she knew just how to push the right buttons to make him crack. It was, in a word, inspirational. It was also terrifying. In her shadow, was the silhouette of Magneto, the scariest man you knew past perhaps your grandfather, now given birth to one of the most singularly terrifying women you’d ever known - past your mother, of course, when she got cross.

It was also, you’re reminded, incredibly hot. She was like a panther in the dark, lithe and purposeful. You remember joking once to Victor about the merits of challenge - framing it as imagining the satisfaction from fucking some gorgeous woman while hanging from the ceiling. Now you’re beginning to consider the reality that it needn’t be imagination.

Fuck. Focus, you need to focus.

"...That was fucking terrifying," Havok mumbles, his arms crossed over his chest. "Like, what the fuck." He was a little less aroused, a little more alarmed.

After a few moments Zero comes flying out of the floor with some force, bouncing off the ceiling and slamming down on the table. He groans in pain, clutching his ribs as Shadowcat slowly emerges from the ceiling. She was _fast_ moving in the phase when she felt like it.

"Fine..." Zero wheezes. "Fine... I... I'll talk."

You nod. Rising from your seat, you knock on the table thrice again, signaling Mystique to enter. Striding around the object, you pick up Zero by the arm and deposit him in his seat. Retreating back with your arms folded, you lean against the wall and let the XO of X-Force lead the questioning.

Mystique sits down across from Zero, folding one leg over the other and settling her hands on her knee. "Hello, Agent Zero. It's good to meet you," she greets softly. "It's unfortunate that things came to this, but...you didn't leave us much of a choice, did you?"

Zero is sullenly silent in response, before stirring. "Cut the shit." He grunts.

The shape-shifter chuckles. "Ah, you seem impatient," she pauses, her smile widening. "Alright, we’ll get to the point. Where is the headquarters of Weapon X now?"

The assassin shakes his head. "I don't know."

"That's curious. Stryker didn't tell you?" She raises an eyebrow.

Zero shakes his head. "No." Through your attention to the rhythms of his heartbeat and the smell of his skin temperature, you know he isn’t lying.

"What are the current mutant forces of Weapon X, then?" She smoothly transitions to her next line of questioning.

"...The current members are Deadpool, Ajax, Silverfox, and Copycat," he grunts, wincing as the talk aggravates his bruised jaw. "The rest are either dead, missing in action. Or replaced by Sentinels and used for testing."

“And these...’testing’ facilities,” you slide in a query of your own. “Do you know or suspect any of their locations?”

"..." He nods. "I know of one, yes. Tiberius Station. It's located on an island in Lake Erie. It was developed after X-Force captured Plague from our research facility in North Dakota. Tiberius Station... Would have classified information on where to find the current headquarters of Weapon X. Tissue samples are sent to an archive in the headquarters for safekeeping and further development. The guys in charge have been wanting to harvest more and more mutant tissue, much more than before."

“Wade – Deadpool. He’s the one they transferred our healing to, isn’t he? Mine and Victor’s.” The man you’d met 25 years ago couldn’t have survived, otherwise. Romulus said Weapon X succeeded in passing on your ‘knack’ as it were. The dots were there.

Zero nods. "He was the first successful test case. They say there's been further developments in the program past him, but I haven't heard much else about what they're doing with it. None of us received the regeneration factor therapy like he did. I've not actually seen Wade in... eight years or so." He shrugs.

"My job is to collect mutants for testing. Not much else."

"Interesting..." Mystique says softly, glancing at you before looking back at Zero. "Where are the other members of your little group now?"

Zero sighs, settling back in his chair. "Wade is at the headquarters I hear. Silverfox floats like I do. Copycat should be at the headquarters too, from what I hear." Something in his voice made you wonder if she had also become a test subject. Most likely, given the value of her power. "Ajax is in a hospital in Atlanta. Someone threw a truck at him apparently."

Mystique taps one finger on her knee. "Why are they creating the Alpha Sentinels?"

"Those are a pet project of Trask's. He wants to prove his machines are the future of warfare, not weaponizing mutation." Zero grunts. "All he gets are table scraps anyhow. By the time he gets what's necessary for his Alphas, there's not much left of the... donor. I'm the only exception to that rule. They used a different procedure for copying my powers," the agent shrugs. "Probably why it went down like a bitch in Tennessee."

You show impressive restraint and maturity by not pointing out that, really, the Alpha’s poor showing only reflected how perfectly it had copied its template. You settle for scoffing. Turning your eyes to Mystique, you tilt your head. Was there anything else they would need to get from Zero?

She pauses, thinking. "What can you tell us about Tiberius Station? As much detail as you can muster."

Zero pauses, glancing away. "It's on Long Point island. An underground facility, about...two-hundred feet deep, I would say. Rotating security access. Surface-to-air, surface-to-water missile systems. The entire island is surrounded by a mine field in the lake. Numerous traps surrounding the facility itself. It's guarded by sentinels and you might encounter Silverfox there. But getting into there will be a cakewalk compared to wherever the headquarters is."

"What about SHIELD? Are they aware of this facility?" Mystique asks.

Zero shakes his head. "No. It's top secret, only those authorized by the Enclave are in the know. There might be someone at Vault-Tec who also knows, they're building all these damn underground facilities across the country."

That didn’t sound familiar. “The Enclave?”

Before Zero can respond, Shadowcat speaks up first. "An illusive cabal within the government. Their existence is mostly whispers, very hard to track down. From the intelligence I've gathered, though, their reach is long. They've been the ones pulling the strings. They started Weapon X, they sponsored the 'Vault' program through Vault-Tec."

The assassin nods slowly. "Vault-Tec has been building them a lot more than just the vaults. They've been planning something for years, and they seem to think mutation is the keystone part of their plan."

You want to growl. The thorny vine kept getting pulled further and further from the dirt, and all that happened was you discovered more thorns and more roots. First Weapon X, now the Enclave and Vault Tec behind it. Jackals in the dark, circling for weakness. So many cabals, all looking to use mutants for some darker purpose. When you signed on to Charles’ request, you thought this would end with Weapon X’s destruction. That, at least, would give X-Force a fighting chance tackling the rest of the world’s problems with mutants.

Now you’re wondering if it’ll ever end.

Romulus would say there's one way it could end: Wipe the slate clean. No more humans with their silly games and their silly pretend civilizations... No more war, no more predation on mutants, because mutants would be all that's left. The true, evolved next step of humanity.

But the price to pay would be too high...right?

Mystique nods slowly. "One step at a time." She says, almost as if talking to you. "Weapon X represents one of a few threats from a true enemy that plays this game very well. We have to be on our guard. But destroying Weapon X and ending their research will be a major blow against the Enclave."

She stands, circling around the table and placing a hand on Zero's neck. To his credit, he doesn't flinch, merely staring dead ahead. "Magneto thinks you should be executed as a traitor to your race. I can't say I disagree with him. James here thinks you should be let go. It's what Charles would want."

Mystique pauses and then slams Zero's head into the table. "Why did you attack the mansion?" She asks, her voice ice cold. "Two old men and _children_. Why did you attack them?"

Zero grits his teeth, hissing in pain. "Wasn't my call. The loss of Plague didn't impact the research one whit, but it did offend the powers that be. They didn't want mutants to think they could strike back. If X-Force was crippled, then the others would fall into line. The Hellfire Club...the Morlocks...they could force everyone to play by their rules."

“Mystique,” you call out evenly. “I think Zero needs to think a little more about if he has anything else relevant he should tell us. Let’s step out a second, yeah?”

She holds the assassin's head against the table for a moment longer before nodding and following you out the door. "What?" She asks in a slightly irritable tone. "He deserves worse than a knot on the head and you know it."

“Damn right he does. I don’t care if you rough him up a little. You’re pretty damn entitled to it,” you eye her warily. “But I want to talk about what, exactly, is going to happen to him after we’re sure he’s given up all that he can.”

"..." She glances back at the door. "Well, I'm pretty sure Erik is going to peel him like an onion, but he can be inventive when he's in a bad enough mood."

“And is that really the best course of action?”

"I don't really see any way to convince Magneto that it's not. Besides, he's a massive threat to be let loose." She shrugs.

You’re silent for a moment, summoning the argument you’d been forming ever since Magneto’s proclamation. The intent was there. The logic sound, at least as much as you could make it so.

Now...the words. You stiffen your spine, careful not to appear as though you’re trying to bulrush her - physically or otherwise. Mystique isn’t someone you can bully into your way of thinking, nor are you inclined to try. You’re very aware of the chain of command here, and your position in it.

And hers. But you’re curious if _she’s_ truly aware.

“You already heard my first argument, back before we started this op,” you point out as your opening statement, keeping your words even and without judgement. “Just before that, you said you trusted me. I...” you hesitate, brow twitching twice. “I appreciate that, by the way. And I also appreciate it won’t be enough to ask you to let Zero out just based on that.”

“You heard my next argument, too. What I told Zero, that wasn’t just a bunch of bullshit to sweeten him up - it can work. Misinformation is our best counter against our enemies right now - he’ll just reinforce their fear that Charles is alive by being alive. And by letting him loose, you know what we’re showing other mutants - the people we’re fighting for, the people we want to fight with us? That X-Force doesn’t kill its own kind, when we don’t have to. That you can make deals with us and we keep our word. I said it before and I’ll say it again - that means something. It’s what nations and rebels both have used to win wars. And we’re fighting a war, aren’t we? That means making compromises, but not always the ones we think.”

“You say Magneto can’t be convinced. I say he can,” You level a look filled with meaning, part determination and part respect. “I say he’ll listen to his XO. If she thinks it’s the way we need to go. If she still thinks that her mistakes are something she could’ve changed.”

Mystique blinks in surprise at being acknowledged - her importance, her value. She’s not used to deference, which you are well aware of. Her mouth opens to respond, but closes...she thinks about what you’ve just said. Part of her wants to argue, to say there was no other way...but wasn't that sliding back into the old ways again? Something she vowed to herself she wouldn't do?

It was already starting again. The awful destruction and killing wrought at the Triskelion. What Cyclops did. What Magneto _made_ him do, only a boy.

Only a boy.

"...Oh, god," She puts a hand over her mouth, turning away from you as her skin tone ripples. Was it all happening again? Cyclops, then Angel, forced to kill his own father. Shadowcat, bitter and seething. Kurt. Anna. Would Arctic too become just a soldier in their war? Would it ever change?

"...I... I need to think about what you said." She stutters after a moment, and you make to speak again. "Please..." she walks away, shaken to the core. "I need to think."

**_ XxXxX _ **

[Caliban wanders into the main common area, a grease-stained rag draped over his shoulder.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-BrIRzNBwQ) He looks about the room, where you had repaired the water filtration system with little more than your ingenuity and a couple feathers plucked off of Angel's wings. 'Holy water’ you had called it. The albino mutant chuckles a little when he sees you, shuffling over and proffering a bottle of whiskey.

"A little something to wet the whistle after all that talking,” he greets roughly, sitting down beside you. "I hear you brought back a friend from your little expedition across the world."

The cork pops out of the bottle and Caliban takes a swig, wincing with appreciation. "Damn good stuff,” he remarks, handing you the bottle. "Shame you couldn't bring the old bird back with you. I'll miss bein' under her black wings."

Caliban sighs, surveying the room. "But...that’s just how this shite goes, as I am sure you know better than anyone. The old things die and make way for what's new."

“Hey, Caliban,” you greet cordially, not quite warm but certainly halfway there. He’d been as good towards you as any, even saved your ass during your first real scuffle with the Sentinels. And he was brave, in that strange, misleading kind of way that smelled like fear but didn’t slow in acting.

You eyeball the whiskey in his hand greedily and swipe it when offered, taking a single relishing sip. Damn good, damn right. And you needed it right now. Between Zero, Mystique, the entire goddamn business you’d sworn to see through...you needed it.

“I don’t know that old things always have to die. But they can’t stay the same, either,” you take a larger drink, then pass the bottle generously - by your reckoning - back to the albino man. His words have you thinking on something you’d been trying very hard to avoid. “Do you think that’s what change is? Just a kinda...dying?”

"For things to change, something's got to give, right?" He shrugs, taking another swig. "Something has to go away. Maybe it's a little dramatic to say it's always a death, but it sometimes feels that way... But more likely it's just...a slow, gradual change. Like..."

Caliban laughs, rubbing the tip of his finger. "Like your nails growing, innit? You don't notice it happening 'til it's happened. Then suddenly everything is different. Sometimes the changes are big...the old bird goes down over bloody France, or... Charles." He nods slowly. "But things are changing since Charles died, right? Everyone is coming back together. And now I'm hearing that we're gonna be taking the fight to the bad guys." He takes a long, slow sip while looking at you sidelong. You're sensing there's an unasked question there.

You nod, exhaling softly. “A few of them, anyway. It’s a long way to the top of that food chain. I’m, uh...not sure how far I can climb that. Right now.”

The admission clears something inside you, like the removal of a single chunk of driftwood that precedes the sudden collapse of a dam. The words spill out suddenly. “I don’t even know if I’m fucking _me_ anymore. Charles died, and that other James died...and now I’m different and I don’t know if this is change or if I’m just some goddamn-“ you growl and scratch at your scalp roughly. “Fucking... _rgggghh_!”

Caliban raises one brow while taking another sip of whiskey. "Sounds like a crisis of identity," he remarks, staring down at the amber liquid before taking another, longer sip. He's not drunk enough for this shite. He hands the bottle back over. "Means the honeymoon is over, mate. You've been Johnny on the spot for the last month or so, but that's how it goes with every new relationship. You showing your new filly you're a good man..."

He sniffs. "But y'get comfortable and y'wonder what yer doing. Old habits are harder to break than you thought. And you start doubting what you think and what you feel. Wondering about your options. Y'know, I used to be a leader like Charles or Erik."

He reconsiders making face. "Alright, not like them two, but I was one of the founders of Morlock City. I kept that place running for years. And did anyone thank me for it? Nahh..."

You grunt, recalling him mentioning his past history as rotating mayor of that cavernous city. “That why you stepped down?”

Caliban nods. "I stepped down, moved on, got replaced, and not a single soul missed me or noticed I was gone. So in the end it felt like a whole lotta horse shite I didn't need to deal with. I went along with my life, fell in with this sorry crowd back when they were desperate for warm bodies... Wasn't the worse decision I've ever made, though my skin has been on the line more times than I'm comfortable."

He exhales, massaging his throat. "Most words I've strung together in a while..." He mumbles, glancing at the bottle. "The point is, now that the honeymoon is over, you're actually stopping to think about the situation. And it's nuts when you look at it rationally."

“Completely fuckin’ crazy,” you agree instantly. “I got my genocide grandpa in one corner, this bunch in the other...I got fuckin’ secret G-man groups pushing and pulling all the strings. And I got a dead guy in my head.”

You scowl. “Like...I don’t know, Caliban. People go on about how great a guy Charles was, and how he really wore that heart of his. But he knew how to fight a war, too. He...saw something in me. Maybe I’m not really making these choices. I...” you hang your head. “Or maybe I haven’t changed all that much at all.”

A heavy sigh. “Maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to cut and run. Like always.” You grab the bottle and chug a third of it down.

"......." Caliban watches the liquid swirl down with a sad look. _Au revoir, mon ami- WAIT WAS HE THINKING IN FRENCH?! DAMN THE LIQUOR, IT BETRAYED HIM_!

The albino coughs, coming back into the moment. "Guess you've got some soul-searching to do." He replies. "I can't say I knew Charles well, but I also won't say he was a brilliant guy. He fought with his heart, with his mind, with his soul, but he wasn't invincible. And sometimes he made choices that made life harder on the rest of us." He glances at you. "If you ask me, we don't need Charles Xavier. We need the mean sonavabitch who can unite the mutants in their own defense."

They needed James. And they needed...Wolverine.

Wolverine. The name you’d earned from Weapon X - death, resilience, vicious and unrelenting savagery. The face that Zero saw, behind the born-again mutant who woke up to Magneto’s scalpel. The face that was you, but not. Sometimes it was Victor. Other times, your grandfather. Your mother. But it always came back to you. The man who dreamed he was a beast. Or the beast who dreamed he was a man.

Caliban might not think too high of Charles the same way other did, but they both shared an opinion: James Howlett, the Wolverine, was the ticket to punch for the salvation of an entire race. The fuck were you supposed to do with that? You were no savior. Your talents lay elsewhere.

Killing the old. So the new could be born.

“...” you let yourself smile, just a little. It made sense, again. Just enough. You were a killer. But even sharks had their place. Wolves made sure the deer didn’t kill the forest that cradled them both.

“Y’know, Caliban. I think just maybe your leading days aren’t over yet. Thank you.”

Caliban shrugs, chuckling a little. "That makes one of us. I'm thinking about retiring. Going down to someplace nice, dark, and cozy and live out my days far away from all this damn nonsense. But that's just me." He snags the bottle out of your hands. "I hear you lot were torturing that bastard in there. Pissed some folks off, but I get it. Some shit has gotta be done. Magneto wants him dead. Dunno if that's right or wrong, it's above my paygrade."

"What worries me though, is what we do next. Because if we're taking the fight to Weapon X, take it from a bona fide coward that I'm not feeling too comfy about where we stand, strategically." He sniffs.

“Far as interrogation goes, was mostly ‘bout making him scared,” you reply, knowing that you should get this information through the grapevine before it sets in. “Didn’t much need to touch him. Didn’t want to.”

You decide to save the debate of executing Zero or not for a later time. “It’s fighting from a disadvantage,” you agree. “But that’s nothing new. And the alternative is surrender, which isn’t an option. But...” you toss him a surreptitious look. “Haven’t told the others yet, but I tapped my grandfather when we got back with Zero. He might bring in some help for us when we make our play. He’s got plenty reason to want Weapon X scrubbed off the map.”

"He ain't the only one," Caliban replies, throwing you a look. "You should reach out to the other mutants too. Morlocks and the Hellfire Club might want to be dealt in on the action too. Increases our chances of survival."

He takes a long sip. "And it'd be the first mutant coalition in...hell, how many years?" The albino exhales loudly.

“I can see Hellfire, but they’d probably want a favor unless we’re real convincing. And the Morlocks, they aren’t still pissed with us?”

"Oh we're still _persona non grata_ about coming and going, but I would bet Callisto would lend us one or two mutants for the cause. She's a little more politically savvy than you give her credit." Caliban chuckles. "Getting rid of Weapon X is good for all of us."

“I’ll run it by M&M, then. Can work out how to reach them, say what needs to be said.”

He nods, taking another swig. "Well. Seems like you've got your call to arms then." He winks and slaps you on the shoulder. "Good talk. Now I'm going to get blitzed, talk to coma girl, see if can make me trip out and see the walls melt."

“Uh. You do that often?” You ask as he starts to depart.

"Not _too_ often. She doesn't like having her sleep disturbed." He mumbles, wandering towards the ladder. "One time she made me dream about spiders eating my guts for a whole week. Tho' it could have been a bad batch of booze." He swirls the liquid in the bottle. "I do make this in... _questionable_ circumstances."

You laugh and find you feel just a little bit better.

**_ XxXxX _ **

After your talk with Caliban, Mystique calls a meeting that requires the presence of all of X-Force. You stand in the commons with Mystique, Magneto, Anna, Kurt, Cyclops, Arctic, Angel, Shadowcat, Caliban, while Havok kept an eye on Zero in the other room. You already knew what he would have to say on this topic.

Mystique stepped into the center of the room, glancing at you for a moment. "...Magneto,” she begins flatly, turning to face the old mutant. His eyebrows beetle together into a frown in response, meeting her gaze impassively. "This can't keep happening. Your way of doing things is over."

The response is deafening - not a single word is spoken, but you can smell and hear the tension ratchet up by several orders of magnitude. Was this what you had in mind when you confronted Mystique? Probably not but she is taking this further than you planned.

Magneto blinks slowly before clearing his throat. "Pardon me?"

Mystique squares her shoulders, bracing against a lifetime of learned deference. "You...you aren't the leader X-Force needs anymore. You can't lead us into the future. Into the world that Charles wanted. Things need to change. We need to change. And so for that to happen, I'm calling a vote."

Magneto stiffens, taking a step forward. "This is a _war_ , not a tea party, my dear,” he reminds patronizingly. “I thought you understood that. War requires clear, precise lines of leadership, not a democracy. Charles and I have been leading X-Force for decades, and-"

"AND IT FELL APART BENEATH YOU!" Kurt blurts out suddenly, then clamps a hand over his mouth.

"...He's right. Kurt is right," Mystique nods. "We turned children into soldiers, Erik-"

"MAGNETO!” The old man thunders abruptly, the entire structure shuddering as the metal vibrates with his rage. The rage of a name he’d abandoned, suddenly returned when he least wanted to hear it. "It is Magneto, and _only_ Magneto."

Mystique swipes her hand through the air just as thunderously. "NO, your name is _Erik_! You are- we destroyed our children, Erik! We destroyed so many lives, and for _what_? To hide in a bunker in the middle of nowhere, cowering in fear and desperately trying to save our family? This isn't the world that Charles wanted, and _you can't give it to us!"_

One might be inclined to believe that this approach, indeed, was not quite what you were thinking of when you pushed Mystique down this path. One might be a fucking understating asshole, too. The opening statement, at least, left you no doubt where she stood and how firmly she stood. And whoever sided with her now would show very clearly where they stood. It was time to find out whose lines were drawn in sand...and who carved theirs into stone.

“Raven’s right,” you raise your voice to be heard, knowing that the lull may be your only opportunity before this situation careened into a messier dialogue. “Things need to change! That’s why we’re here. Now maybe you don’t see it or don’t want to,” you stare right into Magneto’s eyes, and for the first time you are unafraid of him. What he can do to you. You’ve died before. You’ve suffered before. And he can inflict as much of that on you as he likes, get pissed as he wants. You’re not letting him lead Arctic, Angel, and all the rest into the same hole.

“This group is on the brink, Magneto. And where you want to take it, you’re gonna walk it right into the ground. Right next to the Professor, to Hank, to every other mutant who’s died for the way that hasn’t worked! You say this is a war, not a tea party, huh?” You snort. “Yeah, you’re fuckin’ right it’s not. This is a war. And the cause we’re fighting for, how we fight for it, doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to all of us.”

Magneto freezes, staring at you for a long moment. You can tell that he's tempted, knowing you instigated this. That you subverted his authority and _used_ Mystique against him. That in letting you have free rein, you had manipulated and cajoled your way into being free of his control.

[He shouldn't have trusted you.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wILHyuxinlg)

"So...you will force me out, then," he asks hoarsely, looking back at Mystique. “Throw me out to the wolves?"

Shadowcat and Cyclops both open their mouths, but Mystique cuts them off. "No, that's not what I'm saying. You will _always_ have a place here, with us. But it's time for you to step aside for a new way. Where no single one of us has the power to-"

Magneto chuckles, touching his brow. He’s not biting. "After all these years, so naive. Still so naive. So much like Charles," Erik shakes his head. "There's _always_ someone with the power. Whether or not you recognize that he's calling the shots is simply a matter of...perception."

He stares directly at you.

Shadowcat is confused for a moment, glancing at Magneto before looking at you with shock and confusion.

Anna shakes her head, stepping forward as well. "Dad, stop being a fucking drama queen and cut the bullshit. You're not _going_ anywhere. We just want for things to change! Mom isn't the only one! You have to recognize that...we don't want to do things your way anymore. We can't. It broke me and Kurt. It'll break these poor boys, too."

"...Let me guess," Magneto folds his arms. "This is about the prisoner."

Raven nods slowly. "We want to set him free. We want to call a vote so that everyone decides what sort of people X-Force is going to be. And the only way that is going to happen is if you step aside."

Shadowcat hesitates, shaking. "My... When I lost my legs, none of you wanted me on the field. You made me feel useless and you didn't listen to Erik – to Magneto when he said I still could fight." She swallows down her emotions. "I- I don't think we should be throwing away his leadership now, right before we're about to take the fight to X-Force."

"We can't be showing them mercy," Angel agrees coldly. "It's not gonna end well-"

"But that's exactly it! Your opinion would only matter so long as you agree with Magneto!" Mystique interjects. "We're not taking away his voice, or yours. We're broadening the options so that everyone gets a say.”

"So if you all could have voted on it, would you have voted to keep Shadowcat out of the fight?" Cyclops asks bluntly.

“It would never have crossed my mind,” you reply just as bluntly – and perfectly honest, given your benefit of hindsight. “There’s a hundred other ways to be part of the fight, whether it’s the battlefields or otherwise. And if it had been a vote, she’d have had mine. You would’ve heard me. Like you’re hearing me now. But it wasn’t, and you didn’t, and look where that turned out. Shadowcat was out on the fuckin’ street because only two people’s opinions actually mattered in this group and they made the decision for the rest of you.”

There's a tense silence in the room before Arctic finally speaks up. "If the Professor was here, he'd listen to Mystique,” he murmurs with a weight of finality. "The Professor would’a listened to her. He would’a cared about what she had to say. He would’a cared-"

Shadowcat laughs harshly. "Yeah, remind us all about how Xavier only listened to the people he _liked_."

"Don't talk about Charles that way," Magneto rebukes her in an instant, almost out of habit. "Don't- just... I can..."

Mystique grabs her ex-husband by the shoulder. "No. You _can't_ , Erik. And even if this opens up the way for demagoguery, listen to this room. Half the people here value your opinions. You're afraid of there being someone influencing all the decisions, but are you sure you just don't want competition?"

Caliban takes a swig of whiskey because he is still not drunk enough for this bullshit.

"Making this a democracy will only slow us down, impede us from making the decisions that matter," Magneto insists darkly. "And letting that prisoner go is only going to create a problem for us down the line. He knows about our granddaughter. He...he knows too much."

“Magneto,” you step forward, clearing the line of fire from you and the rest of the group. “This isn’t just about making people feel important. This is about X-Force. What’s X-Force, to you?”

"..." Erik stops, staring at you. You can feel his enmity, his distrust, his...pain. This is a betrayal, and one he will remember for a long time. But you can tell there is some kernel within him that understands what is happening. It just... _hurts_.

"X-Force was a dream. Our dream," he sucks in a shuddering breath, looking at his boots. "For a...a better future. One where mutants need not hide and cower in fear of men. The world was ours too. We deserved...a home."

“If this doesn’t happen, the dream is dead, Magneto,” you say, gentle but firm. “X-Force can’t survive another split. Not to what’s coming. Not for what it needs to be. For the dream to live, it needs to be held in more hands than one. Or this place…” you spread your arms. “…is the only home we’ll ever have.”

Mystique squeezes his shoulder softly. "We sacrificed too much for that dream, Erik. We've given up too much for it. Our children? Our friends? Our marriage? What else do we have to give before you see this isn't working?"

The old man is silent, his eyes squeezed tight as he tries to breathe, tries to hold it all in. The pain, the trauma. "They will...they will..."

"Dad," Kurt calls softly. "Do you remember the story you used to tell us when we were little? The story of...of how you were in _that_ place? But then, when things seemed at their worst...the gates were broken and the fences torn down and you met..."

 _"Hauptmann Amerika."_ Erik finishes softly, lost in a memory.

Kurt nods, coming alongside his father slowly. "And you told us how even through all the ash and the grime, you could see the blues, the reds, the whites of his uniform. That in that hellscape he looked like a beautiful sky."

The room is still, and Kurt takes his father's hand. "And you told us he came up to you after you and everyone else were freed... And he gave you a chocolate bar and told you not to eat it all at once, or you'd get sick? You told us once he represented something you hadn't had since your parents died."

"...Hope." Magneto whispers.

Kurt nods. "Captain America was just a man. Just another human in a silly costume, but he represented something so much bigger than himself. He was the best of them, wasn't he? But who says he's the only one?"

Kurt looks into his father’s eyes beseechingly. "And shouldn't we try to be more like him?"

Mystique is silent for a moment before releasing Magneto's shoulder.  "...Before we vote, does anyone choose to abstain?" She looks around the room. Slowly, Shadowcat raises her hand, not looking at her mentor.

"...Alright. All those in favor of releasing Zero, raise your hand and say Aye."

"Aye." Mystique says.

"Aye." Kurt agrees.

Anna nods slowly, looking at you for a moment before raising her hand. "Aye."

Arctic raises his hand. "Aye."

Caliban takes another swig before raising his hand. "Hope this doesn't come back to bite us in the arse. Aye."

You raise your hand. “Aye,” you declare.

"And Havok previously stated he would vote aye," Mystique says as everyone drops their hands. "All those opposed?"

Angel raises his hand, curtly staring at the blue-skinned woman. "Nay."

Cyclops nods, also raising his hand. "Nay."

Magneto quietly mutters, "Nay."

"...The ayes have it," Mystique says after a moment. "We will release Zero. Now he has revealed to us the location of a Weapon-X facility that could lead us to their HQ, the head of the snake. It will be well-fortified and well-guarded. Should we attack it? We will vote before we develop a plan. All those in favor... Raise your hand and say aye."

You wait, watching the crowd.

"Aye." Arctic says, nodding.

"Aye." Angel agrees.

"Aye." Cyclops grabs his two friends by the shoulders.

"Aye." Kurt and Anna say in unison.

"Aye." Shadowcat murmurs.

Caliban takes another, longer drink. "Aye." He wheezes through the burning.

"...Aye." Magneto nods.

Mystique looks at you.

Time to go to war. “Aye.”

Mystique nods decisively. "Aye. Havok abstains. I motion that we form a special committee to form a strategy recommendation to submit to the general body. They will determine the best means of engaging the target and what team will go. We will then vote on their options. Do I have a second on the motion?"

"Who will be on the committee?" Cyclops is quick to ask.

“Who wants to be on it and who endorses them?” You add.

"I would say it should be a group of five individuals max," Mystique advises. "We can nominate members and vote on who is nominated."

"I nominate Magneto." Shadowcat says immediately.

"I also nominate Magneto!" Cyclops agrees.

“I nominate him as well,” you agree. Magneto blinks, looking at you in surprise. You smile wryly. He’s going to have to unlearn his habit of misjudging you someday. “Next nomination, assuming there’s no opposition to Magneto?” You look around.

"Kurt." Mystique says with a wry smile.

"Havok!" Cyclops shouts.

You nod. “Alright, we’ve got two nominations. Sell them.”

"Kurt has a good heart and his sense of strategy comes from a master of surprise attacks and trickery,” Mystique extols. "He'll know what tactics are best to use."

"Havok is an awesome leader!" Cyclops says proudly of his brother.

Anna nods. "I'll back Kurt."

The blue-skinned mutant blushes slightly, scratching his nose. "I'll do my best."

Caliban is quiet for a moment and nods. "What the hell, I'll throw in for Havok."

"Two more," Magneto notes quietly. "I nominate... Angel. We ought to have the voice of one of our younger members on this committee, shouldn't we?"

“Seconded,” you agree. “Angel’s paid dearly for this cause. And someone has to look out for the group, to make sure the rest of us don’t have to. Almost like he’s on our shoulder.”

Angel nods. "I'll accept this responsibility."

That leaves only one spot open. “Last nomination,” you speak up. Of the remaining candidates, you know your pick. “Mystique.”

Arctic stirs and points at you. "I nominate James."

You blink rapidly. Magneto glances at you, and then at Arctic. "I also nominate Mystique."

"I nominate Mystique too!" Cyclops agrees, nudging Angel.

The winged mutant glances at you, considering. "I... nominate James."

Kurt glances around nervously. "I'm not gonna say..."

Anna scratches her nose. "I nominate Mystique for this one. Sorry James."

Caliban speaks up, "I'm going to go with James on this one."

"...James." Shadowcat says after a moment.

It's a tie. You look to the legless mutant, around to all your voters. Surprised and touched, by their confidence in you. Now it’s on Mystique.

The shapeshifter chuckles, shaking her head. "Sorry, but no. You're up, James."

You stand quiet for a moment...then laugh, scratching your beard. “I, uh, had another name, before this. Used to think it represented my worst self. But now I’m thinking...maybe it belongs to my better self, too. I’ll take this job. I’ll be James.”

You smile. “And I’ll be your Wolverine.”

"That's it, then. Magneto, Angel, ...Nightcrawler, Havok, and Wolverine will create a strategy for taking on Tiberius Station," Mystique resolves with a sense of finality. "Now, do I have a second on the motion?"

Anna chuckles, raising her hand. "I second the motion."

"All those in favor?"

"Aye!" The room says as one.

"All those opposed?"

The room is silent.

"The motion carries. You're dismissed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Young flashback Romulus is a portrait of Jimmi Simpson, in the shape of William from Westworld. Two-thousand years later, he’s become Ed Harris. Really makes you think about how old James and Victor will be if they live to their full lifespan. Maybe James will grow up to be Ian McShane.
> 
> In the out-of-character prep for the sessions this chapter is comprised of - as we sometimes like to plan certain scenes rather than purely rely on my improvisation as a character - the arguments James made as well as Mystique’s emotional process to her change of heart were lain out more step-by-step. For the purpose of the session, we went along knowing ourselves why things worked as they did and didn’t spare the same detail for potential readers. However, I think that Mystique’s internal conflict has been forecasted and developed enough prior that it stands that James, increasingly charismatic and perceptive, can successfully provide the last push for her to take decisive action.
> 
> Welcome to checks and balances, X-Force.


	13. Les Misérables

Awaken the Wolverine

Chapter XIII: Les Misérables

 

With new security being drummed up to keep an eye on Zero until his release, Havok joined you as you walked towards the hastily-made conference room for planning the attack on Tiberius Station. He walked alongside you in lockstep, wanting to present a united front as you both entered the room. A table had been set up in the middle of the room, with a long sheet of scratch paper rolled out with pens and markers. Maps had been pulled out of storage and bolted onto the walls, portraying the US, the Great Lakes region, and other important regional areas.

Magneto looked up tiredly from the scratch paper, his grey eyes locking onto you for a moment. His permanently deep frown seemed even more morose, but he was determined to see this through. Angel stood in one corner of the room, intent on observing for now.

After a few moments, Nightcrawler appears in the room with a **_BAMPF_** , causing a large cloud of smog to appear in your midst. Havok coughs and waves his hand. "Kurt, do you mind? God only knows what's in this shit."

"Ah, right." Kurt replies sheepishly, pointed ears twitching. "My apologies. I'm used to it."

You hack and gag, yourself, at Kurt’s appearance - then sneeze, the effort doing little to cleanse the scent from your nostrils. You try not to hold it against the teleporter, instead nodding to each of your fellows - your co-strategists - as you pour over the maps.

“‘Fore we decide the approach, first we have to know what we’re up against and what we have to play with,” you cross your arms. “Let’s recap: defenses, topography, the works.”

Havok nods, stepping forward, "If Zero is telling the truth, we have a certain idea of what to expect: It's on Long Point island, in Lake Erie, one-hundred-and-four miles southwest of Toronto, roughly the same distance east of Detroit. It's an underground facility, about two hundred feet deep, with rotating security access. He described two main perimeter defenses, surface-to-air and surface-to-water missile systems. The entire island is surrounded by a mine field in the lake. He mentioned numerous traps surrounding the facility itself. It's also guarded by Sentinels and he said we might encounter 'Silverfox' there."

Magneto glances at you. "Any insights on this 'Silverfox'?"

“Mutant hostile, part of the original Weapon X roster before my exit,” you recount mechanically, nodding to yourself as the details return sharp and clear. Slivers of memory made stronger with time. “She’s agile, and absolutely lethal in close quarters with clawed hands to make sure of it. Zero was sloppy, got off relying on me and my brother to keep targets at range - shouldn’t expect to get the same luck with her.”

You think on the facility, its defense network. “As it looks from the outside, a direct offense without more inside information is costly and risky. At best, we lose a handful just getting inside, and taking a lot of time to do it. Infiltration options look minimal. Zero said that Vault-Tec could have access to facility blueprints and weak points. Can we utilize Shadowcat to follow up on that? Find an agent we can grill? Any weakness we can exploit will only add to the advantage.”

Kurt rubs his thumb across his chin. "I agree, we require more intelligence. If we get any sort of imagery of the inside, I can teleport us to that point if we get within close enough range."

Not even Magneto could resent you enough to contradict this line of thought. He didn't relish sending mutants to die on a suicide mission. "Mm. There's a central Vault-Tec office in D.C., but they have outposts in every major city across the country. However, it's unlikely any mere outpost would have information on this facility..."

"Things didn't go well the last time we were in D.C." Angel observes icily.

“No, they didn’t,” you agree levelly. You don’t offer sympathy - Angel doesn’t want or need it from you, respect or no. “We were in the wilds with no back-up and limited escape options. Something I plan on avoiding, this time.”

You nod to Kurt. “Nightcrawler and Shadowcat in tandem can get in and out of anywhere in the world, D.C. or otherwise. Third agent makes sure they get out in one piece. We send some shadow runners into that office, get what we can, regroup them back here to increase our intel pool. In the meantime, right now, we keep planning, since we can adjust later.”

A look around the room. “Any disagreement?”

"Who's the third?" Kurt asks. "I'd prefer Anna Marie, personally. If Annabelle comes out that's another teleporter and someone with some significant firepower. She likes me, so...it's potentially doable we can coax her out."

Magneto shifts uncomfortably. "I'd prefer it was another. Havok...why don't you go with them? You’ve been underground too long."

"Mystique would be a better choice." Angel murmurs, but this too makes Magneto fidget with discomfort.

You weigh the odds - Mystique was your gut choice, but the idea of the _ménage a trois_ you’d just put forth was having the third operator be a heavy striker. Someone who could blast holes that needed to be blasted. Havok could suit that role - so could Annabelle. But on the other hand, that kind of distinctive firepower could set a wide alert to enemies already familiar with their signatures...such as Weapon-X. Or SHIELD. More, she completed the last checkmarks for nearly any encounter the team was likely to find.

That settled it, then. “I’m with Angel on this,” you declare. “My recommendation is Mystique. She expands the team’s range of infiltration and intel-gathering abilities, and she has experience with field command and shadow-runs. If things get too hot, they have one teleporter as well as a phase-walker and a shapeshifter to run, blend in, do what’s needed.”

"I'm _adamantly_ against this." Magneto replies immediately, a man of stone thrumming with dangerous energy beneath.

Havok folds his arms and sighs, "Well, I hate to say it but I kinda agree with Magneto. Mystique might be a good operator, sure, but I think it'd be better if I went along instead."

"...Shall we...put it to a vote?" Kurt suggests, glancing between you and Magneto.

“We’ve got two versus two,” you point out. “Tie-breaker’s yours, Nightcrawler. What’s your verdict?”

"Ah, this is true..." he murmurs with a hint of embarrassment. "Well then, I suppose I have to go with what is most comfortable. Mystique trained me; we've run dozens of ops together. It's the logical choice."

Magneto scowls and slams his fist on the table before turning away. The sound echoes through the quieted room, all eyes set on his back as you consider if you may have a very real situation on your hands. But the elder mutant chooses to seethe in silence, and the mood relaxes…barely.

"...Let's keep this rolling." Angel mutters flatly, stepping forward and pointing to the map with a wingtip. "Long Point is relatively flat, forested, and dotted with small lakes across its length. So we can't rely on the terrain to provide us much of an advantage, and it's likely that forest is a death trap."

“Forest means ambushes and traps waiting to be sprung, probably loads of detection systems, too,” you agree. “There might be a way to upset the terrain, though, give them a handicap or at least mitigate ours.”

You eye the map. “Any idea the kind of ferrous materials located in Long Point’s terrain? Enough deep down to, say, cause some fuss if it were suddenly ripped out of the earth? Worst case, we blast the fucking thing down. Cyclops is more than capable with those eyes of his.”

“It's likely the metal structure of the facility itself would be vulnerable to me, but we want the information inside the facility on the rest of Weapon X's activities and bases. We mustn’t endanger that." Magneto notes through gritted teeth.

Havok nods. "Cyclops and I can level it afterwards, but we do need to know where this HQ is if we're going to cut off the head of the snake. That means we've got to go _into_ this deathtrap."

"Hmm..." Nightcrawler runs a hand through his hair. "This would be easier if we had Storm. A tidal wave hitting the lake and throwing their mines at them would be pretty ironic."

The other two senior members flinch slightly at the name, glancing away. "Well...that's not an option," Havok murmurs. He snaps his fingers, red sparks dancing against the concrete floor. "What about a diversion? Cyclops and I don't have to hit the base in specific, but if we do a wide-bore blast across the island, it'll get their attention. Magneto runs defense for us, the infiltration team sneaks in while their attention is on us."

Magneto pauses, turning slowly to face the table again. "That... Could work. Missiles are no great trouble for me, usually. Even aluminum is slightly magnetic enough for me to throw them off course."

“We did run that play on the Triskelion,” you point out. “Not to mention your energy blasts are pretty distinct and we weren’t subtle when hitting the Alpha Key convey. If they recognize the bait or the mutants, that would backfire on us. Can we afford to do the same trick twice?”

"Oh, that's true." Havok concedes. "Sorta slept through that first bit, heh.”

The problem was the approach. Tiberius Station’s exterior defenses were, in a word, meatgrinders waiting for anyone stupid enough to try a direct assault. You had to cross the lake somehow or try to fly over – and you’d get either mined or shot out of the air. There was a veritable standing army waiting to come pouring out. And if a diversion was out, then stealth was the only real choice left unless you wanted to risk sacrificing members of the team.

It all came back to that damned lake. You have to think outside the box. Be clever. You can’t cross. You can’t fly over it. There’s no going around it. All directions were sealed, except for…

You blink. It could work.

“...what if instead of trying to go through their defenses, or over them, or distracting...” you let a sly smile play over your lips. “We go _under_ the lake?”

Magneto raises an eyebrow. “You have our attention.”

“Arctic has the power,” you explain, surer of your idea with every word. “Water and ice are his element, and he’s strong enough to make sure the stuff can stand up against ridiculous pressure and shape it. He can create a tunnel for us all to travel through, without tripping the mines or the missile systems or any of that other shit. We’ll be right at their front door before they could ever realize.”

“And then,” you nod to Kurt. “Intel works out, we can ‘port right in or blast in, whatever’s necessary.”

"That's...a lot of pressure to put on the kid's shoulders," Havok says, his eyes widening. He looks at you, then Angel, then Magneto. "Can...can he handle that? Are we going to put that on him?"

Angel seems almost darkly amused. "It's an all or nothing play if we do it."

“I saw him out there, Havok,” you reply with a comradely confidence. “Arctic’s got spirit - kind that rises to the occasion. We put him there, tell him he’s the one who’s going to carry us to victory? He’ll start the next Ice Age if he has to.”

You pause, then chuckle. “Don’t tell him I used that phrasing. Do we all agree?”

"...Holy shit, this is might just be crazy enough to work..." Havok runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Yeah, okay, I'm in."

Kurt seems a little pale – that is to say, a lighter shade of blue. But he nods as well. "Alright. Let's give him the chance."

Angel chuckles, nodding. After a moment, Magneto turns to look at you. "Out of all of them, Arctic has the greatest potential for growth. I agree. It's time we let him have his chance."

“Then it’s settled. We have intel gathering sorted. We have the approach. Now the offensive - when we get to the base, who goes inside and who stays outside to keep their attention divided and their forces split? Lots of close quarters in there, but loads of Sentinels, too. I’d volunteer myself, and ideally Annabelle, Havok, and at least one more. Rest stay outside and send hell wherever they see something they don’t like.”

"I'd recommend Shadowcat to go inside. Close quarters are one of her specialties, given her abilities," Magneto suggests with a hint of pride. "As for the outside, I suggest a change - you take Cyclops with you to start. Havok will be most comfortable having a close eye on his brother, if he is to enter the field at all. As you put it, we need to change our tactics or risk discovery. Let Caliban and Annie have access to that Alpha Boy your grandfather gave you. They can work on snaring as many Sentinels as they can prior to the operation and throw them at the island in waves. They won't know what hit them. If I'm there as well they'll assume I'm controlling the Sentinels somehow, which will obscure our true methods. Once the assault begins in earnest, we shall call on Annabelle and position her as needed."

"I'll maintain perimeter recon. Since SHIELD doesn't know about this facility, they'll likely be delayed in their response, but this Enclave might have other surprises waiting in the wings." Angel says, his wings fidgeting.

You whistle appreciatively. “No contest.”

“Then we have everything. Intel. Approach. The crunch.”

“So...let’s go make war.”

**_ XxXxX _ **

[With the Vault-Tec infiltration team returned from D.C. and Zero set loose to be picked up by either Weapon X, SHIELD, or some other shadowy organization, the time had come for X-Force to sally forth from their underground hideaway and take the fight straight to their enemies.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LDS8SeO6hyg) To say that this caused excitement and apprehension in the ranks would be an understatement - some were afraid of what this would cause, what another bloody nose like the Triskelion would provoke in the enemy.

Others? They wanted to see blood. Generations had passed since the reality of mutation had been acknowledged by scientists and politicians, made known to the general public, and caused over a century of horrific repression and persecution. Institutions like Weapon X were abattoirs of the most disgusting sort, an ongoing reminder of how little mutants were valued, how inhuman they appeared to the powers that be.

Armed with a working layout of the Tiberius facility and what to expect when you arrived, you and your crew departed, leaving behind Mystique, her daughter in law, her granddaughter, and the still-sleeping Jean. She had been your suggestion, and had understood your reasoning – to the point of finishing your sentences for you. Someone needed to be behind to protect Kurt’s family as well as Jean, to move them to safety and spread the warning to others in case the worst came to pass and nobody returned from the mission. The only one who could do all those things and carry on the fight was her.

Everyone else was on deck to aid in the coming operation. Magneto had commandeered a handful of vehicles and remolded their license plates to avoid close scrutiny. Caliban and Annie had gone on ahead with the Alpha Boy to subvert as many roving Sentinels as they could.

It was a chilly morning when you, Arctic, Havok, Cyclops, Magneto, Nightcrawler, Shadowcat, and Angel gathered on the banks of Lake Erie. In the far distance you could see your target, but now that it was in sight, it seemed so far away...Arctic shivered from nervous energy as he looked across the vast distance between the group and their destination.

Magneto was busy fitting a new set of legs to Shadowcat, who wiggled the feet experimentally, wincing as he tightened them a little too much around the stump of one of her legs. They were talking lowly, him admonishing her to remember her training, that she was rusty and not to take stupid risks. Like an exasperated daughter, she nodded her head and rolled her eyes in response.

Havok opened a backpack and pulled out the adrenal stimulant you had requested, holding it out to you.

You flex your gloved hands, looking over the padding and plates of your patched-together armor - a relic from your infiltration of Trask’s ANVIL team. A mission that seemed like a lifetime ago. You’d need every advantage you could get for this op.

It is with those hands that you take the stimulant, resting the syringe in the palm of your hand. That med-kit from the Triskelion Vertibird sure went a long way, didn’t it? When Arctic needed a juice up, you’d be there...

First, he needed a different kind of juice. You approach the apprehensive teen, walking to stand beside him to observe the distance of the lake. “Nervous, huh?” You ask rhetorically. “Yeah, me too.”

"That's, like…a really long way…" Arctic stares across the lake at the distant island. "I've never, ever done anything like this before. Ever. And if...if I fuck up, everyone is gonna get crushed under the lake. Everyone. And it'll be my fault."

“It’s as long as the odds have been against us all this time,” you nod, smiling grimly. “No bullshit. You’re totally right. This is insane. All of it. And the pressure on you might as well be the same as that lake’s.”

Arctic takes a long, shuddering breath. "Alright. Alright." He takes off his jacket and tosses it aside and runs his hands through his hair, pumping himself up with deep, fast breaths. "C'mon man, c'mon man. You got this, you can do this. Come on, _come on_ , c'mon man!" He holds his arm out, wincing in preparation for the sting of the hypodermic needle.

You watch him attempt to psych up, a similar ritual you’d seen in green draftees for the second Great War. Again, for Vietnam. The funny thing was...you were pretty sure you’d seen Stryker doing it once, back when he was Little Willy Stryker.

It won’t be enough on its own. You reach out, and grab the boy by his outstretched arm...

Then roughly drag him close, for a single-armed hug. The first you can remember giving in...lifetimes.

“Hey, kid,” you mutter lowly. “Don’t ever tell anyone this...but I’m glad I met you. Win or lose. Coming here...was the best thing that’s happened to me I can ever remember.”

Before he can reply, you jab him with the needle and depress the contents.

"AAAAAGHHHH!" He jumps forward as the adrenaline takes hold of him, shaking uncontrollably. Arctic grits his teeth, and you can feel the temperature dropping fast around you. "Ggh... C'mon, c'mon, c'mon Bobby... C'mon **_Iceman!_** " He unleashes a torrent of freezing cold beams on the shore of the lake with one hand and uses his other hand to compress and manipulate the ice, consistently pushing forward to create the beginnings of the ice tunnel.

"This is it!" Havok shouts, waving everyone forward. "Stay close behind Arctic! We need to move quickly, but no one distract or rush the kid!"

The group gathers together as Arctic begins to take the first steps forward, entering the tunnel and descending down the icy surface into the darkness beyond. Havok lights up his energy, the red glow casting a purple aura as it interacts with the ice.

"...Whoa..." Cyclops says with unabashed awe as the group descends further down, the light of the surface disappearing into a point behind you.

You keep close to Arctic, the space between your knuckles itching with a familiar tension. “Ready or not, here we come.”

The air is absolutely bone-chilling as you descend deep below the surface of the lake. Eerie crackling noises echo up and down the course of the tunnel as the ice buckles and strains against the pressures of Lake Erie. As Arctic keeps up the barrage of ice, sweat trickles down his brow only to freeze into solid beads on the surface of his skin, which was turning a rather disconcerting shade of blue.

Shadowcat trips slightly, cursing. "These feet aren't really helpful for the ice." She mumbles. Magneto lifts his hand, pulling her up into the air to have her hover alongside him.

Havok comes alongside you, though at arm’s length. He was controlling his beams, but they were still deadly to touch. "We're....one-sixth of the way there by my reckoning." He glances upwards at the ceiling of the tunnel. "If this thing collapses we've got nowhere to go."

“There was always going to be a risk,” you reply evenly, ready to sweat with nerves even as the chill keeps you from doing so. “He’ll get us in.”

If Arctic was listening, he wasn't showing it, too busy concentrating on his task. The blue skin had disappeared beneath an icy sheen, his hair crystallized into frozen peaks.

You tense. The last time he’d tried something this crazy, he’d almost mutilated himself. Exhaustion was one thing. But this...

No. You need to have faith in him. In something other than yourself.

The journey as a whole takes three excruciating hours. There were close calls - the tunnel collapsed twice. But finally the tunnel opens to the other side, Arctic practically on the verge of screaming as he stumbles out onto the other side, blood darkening the cracks in his icy exterior. He manages to make it a few steps up the beach before falling face-first into the sand.

"Medic," Havok calls quickly, and Nightcrawler moves forward while pulling out a medical kit to help tend to Arctic's condition.

"Hm. Kid's in bad shape," the teleporter winces. "I don't have the time or the resources I need to properly take care of him. Best I can do is patch him up for now and do something for the pain, unless we want to try and pull back?"

Magneto shakes his head. "We've come too far already and he's sacrificed too much. We need to keep going."

“Put him to sleep,” you command quietly, watching the fruits of your handiwork. Mystique, Magneto, Charles...you were among their ranks now. Funny how perspective could change opinion. “He’s earned it. Then we go on.”

"We'll keep an eye on him," Angel assures, setting his watch. "You have fifteen minutes until we call in the Sentinels and Magneto goes on stage. Don't waste them."

After putting Arctic to sleep, Nightcrawler stands and has the strike team gather around him. "Okay, I have the image in mind. We'll be at a utility access point close to their command and control, where we should be able to get the data we need on Weapon X's headquarters."

Shadowcat, Havok, and Cyclops place their hands on Nightcrawler's shoulders.

You cast one final look at Bobby, prone on the sand. Your hand finds its place on Nightcrawler.

**_ BAMPF _ **

Steadying yourself, you blink away the smoke and gather your wits. The others wave away the cloud, getting a sense for the surroundings. The access point was cramped, but serviceable for your needs.

"This facility serves as a staging point for Weapon X's elite forces, so be prepared that if a fight breaks out, they'll have bleeding edge tech at their disposal," Shadowcat remarks grimly. "Power armor, laser weaponry, maybe more. They also have a garrison of Sentinels we don't control. Not to mention this 'Silverfox' is likely to be here. We can use some of that to our advantage, though. There's a hangar that should allow us access to Vertiberds, Ornicopters, and Quinjets aplenty to get a ride out of here."

Havok opens the door, glancing outside. "Any other targets of interest?"

"Yes." Nightcrawler nods. "There is. Other than working knowledge of Weapon X's infrastructure and bases of operations, we also pinpointed an interesting location in the blueprints: there appears to be a deep storage facility for biohazardous materials. Seems to me like we should take it out of play."

You recall the very question you’d posed to Zero that had led you to this place. “What about...harvesting centers? Any chance we can get some of the people out alive that were brought in?”

Shadowcat nods. "They do have a detention block for prisoners. We don't know if there's anyone down there, but it could be worth a look."

Nightcrawler steps away. "I'm going to try and coax Annabelle out and bring her here. Take care of things while I'm gone." He disappears in a cloud of smoke.

Cyclops watches the cloud dissipate before adjusting the setting on his visor. "We're on our own now."

“We’ll hit the storage facility first. Then the detention block. Carry out the rest of the mission from there.” You pop your claws, the slick hardened bones pointed and deadly against the light. “Shadowcat, you’re our scout. You and I are going to eliminate any threats that get too close, keep things quiet while we move through. Havok and Cyclops, you tag-team anything too heavy for us to handle and keep our backs clear. These halls are narrow, and the roofs low - don’t bring them down on us.”

You focus your senses - sound, smell, to better detect incoming approaches and interesting noises.

The team nods and Shadowcat ditches her legs, sinking into the floor. Cyclops and Havok pick up one each, strapping a leg to their back as they flank you. The phase shifter leads you out into the hallway, creeping steadily down towards the storage facility. Things were...quiet. You could hear the humming of ventilation, electrical pathways...

But no footsteps. No voices.

You descend further into the bowels of the station, opening a set of double doors to reveal a three-floored room housing twelve massive tanks, each with computer consoles hooked up to monitor the contents. Massive crane systems and ducts covered the ceiling to move the containers and vent their contents.

There were a couple of engineers in red and white jumpsuits, taking readings carefully. Motion-sensitive spotlights were sweeping the area slowly, but there were at least no signs of guards.

“Cat,” you whisper. “Those spotlights. Can you phase through their power cables, shut them down?”

She pops up, nodding, before phasing up to power down the spotlights. With a small burst of sparks, one goes down, then two...and finally the third. The technicians notice the lightshow, though, and quizzically look up at the damaged spotlights.

You were already in motion, Havok and Cyclops behind you as you grab one engineer and slam his back against the wall of a tank, claws at his throat. The other, you leave to them to hold up.

“Nice day, today. Want to live to enjoy the nice night?” You tilt your head, as if examining a curious insect in your palm. “The tanks. Explain.”

The man squeaks in terror, almost pissing himself. "Ef-ef-ef- _FEV_!" He blurts out. "Several strains, they're set to be released tonight over Arkansas!"

“Talk _faster_ ,” you growl. “What strains?” Your eyes widen...Weapon X did like their plagues, didn’t they? “Some kind of bioweapon? What’s FEV?”

"Uh...these were...um," he pauses, thinking. "Y-yeah, they were targeting water-based organisms like... Microscopic ones, then honeybees, white-tail deer, dogs, c-cats, horses, cows, some forms of insects... And other animals... FEV is... It's the Forced-Evolutionary-Virus. With the right catalyst, the FEV forces the host body to mutate into a stronger, tougher version of itself. But you need specific strains for specific hosts."

"...Why are they targeting all of those animals?" Cyclops blinks in confusion.

"T-to survive. Y'know...the War," the technician stutters. His eyes flick back towards you. "These strains have already been released over California, Nevada, much of the Eastern seaboard. We've been working our way inland."

“Whose orders are you following?” You shake him roughly. “The Enclave’s? Weapon X? Who?”

"The- The Enclave? Who are they? I work for W-Weapon X, and th-they get their orders from the US government..." He looks legitimately confused and your senses tell you that he isn't lying.

So it wasn’t just your grandfather who was preparing for the apocalypse...

“The test subjects here. Are any alive?”

"W-well," He pales. "This isn't a testing facility, so I don't know about that. We don't do R&D here, it's... It's all application."

"..." Havok slams a hand by the man's head. "You said there was a needed catalyst. What's the catalyst?"

The technician flinches, closing his eyes. "GAMMA RADIATION! A- a sufficient gamma burst is metabolized by the FEV and kickstarts the mutation process!"

"And-and gamma bursts are exceptionally common in- in nuclear detonations!" He further explains. "S-so, the plan is, when the bombs go off...everything exposed to the FEV becomes str-strong enough to survive the fallout."

“Thanks,” you remark coldly. “You’ve been helpful.”

You knock him out with an elbow to the chin.

Shadowcat emerges nearby as Cyclops knocks the other technician out. "The Enclave... They've been spreading a mass contagion to force...mutations?" She clambers up your shoulder. "Explains why they're rounding us up. They don't fear us - they want to use us to help themselves survive the nuclear war."

"Plague and the Blue Virus made from her powers must have been a prototype." Havok says grimly.

“We’re not even worth hating,” you scoff cynically. “Just materials for their own gain. Of course.”

Cyclops looks around. "If...if there are people in the detention cells, though...they'll be alive. And probably unhurt.” He pauses, then shrugs. “Or, well. Y’know. Close enough.”

“Right. And that’s where we’re headed next. When everything is said and done, this place is getting razed to the ground.”

You throw one last look at the FEV tanks. Something about that smell, just barely registered even to your nose through the thick metal and pressure seals....

Almost familiar.

The Summers brothers nod in unison, knowing their part to play. With their combined power, this island would be nothing but a glassy mirror on the surface of the earth. Shadowcat takes point once more, leading you and the Summers brothers towards the detention block. As you make your way towards there, your communicator crackles softly.

_"This is Kurt. Annie and I are in the building, but I haven't been able to get Annabelle out yet. Hold on."_

Your senses were telling you more as well... There was more activity as you neared the detention facility, and some sixth sense told you that the security was heightened for more than one reason.

Opening the detention block, you carefully looked around... There were four soldiers in power armor, carrying heavy laser-based weapons, each flanked by two soldiers each. There was almost a full platoon of sentinels patrolling the area, and it was packed full of people. Each cell had at least ten individuals in it. As you quickly surveyed the scene, your blood ran cold.

In a cell nearby, you saw three familiar faces: Piper, her boyfriend...and his cousin, Remy LeBeau.

"This...is a lot more than I was expecting." Kitty admits as she surveys the cell block, words at a whisper. "There's at least a hundred-fifty people here, maybe more. Throws a bit of a wrench into the whole plan. How are we getting them out of here?"

"There's a lot of security in here," Havok notes grimly. "If we start a firefight, civilians could get hurt. I suggest we pull back and figure out a way to lure them out."

As you look out on the scene of oppression, you hear your partners’ words and begin tapping your teeth together quietly. That was certainly more enemies than you were willing to go at with anything less than full-force, but that would, as Havok pointed out, endanger the captives.

Once the outside assault began, these forces would likely remain inside...worse, they might torch the operation. All the prisoners would be lost. Magneto could probably tell you how likely it was that they would do anything else.

“This place has a hanger and transports...and we have other ways of getting people from point to point. We can think of something,” you exhale lowly, nodding to yourself. “But right now we have to get them out.”

You radio Kurt. “Nightcrawler, we estimate one-hundred-fifty mutant captives within the facility. Power armor units and additional Sentinels, too. Be advised.”

Cyclops stares at the groups of enemies thoughtfully, then shakes his head, watching the three of you deliberate.

_"Roger that."_ Kurt responds. _"I think Annabelle might be out soon."_

Shadowcat checks her watch. "We've got five minutes until the Sentinels come bearing down on this place and we hit the C&C. Annabelle isn't out yet, so we don't have that extra firepower. Those Sentinels and soldiers might just purge the cells if this place is compromised…" her eyes watch you guardedly. "I don't know about you, but I think we're going to have to make some tough calls very quickly, very soon."

Havok hesitates. "...I _really_ hope you're not suggesting we leave them behind or let them get murdered by those guards."

She shakes her head. "No. But we might have to decide that some escape...and some don't. It doesn't have to be all or nothing."

Your tension only grows as you find Havok and Shadowcat both voicing the argument within your three-sizes-wasted heart, the length and deadly purpose of the claws between your fists a reminder of the powers you possessed: your ability to cling to life...and your capacity to take it.

In war, there were uncomfortable decisions to be made. And despite your best intentions, intentions that had once led you to join Weapon X believing you could change the world for the better and keep your brother apart of it, you’d created more death besides.

Even now, Arctic....Bobby. He was laying on the shore, horrifically maimed. Maybe even dying. You hadn’t _meant_ for that to happen. You’d been trying to save everybody, to be beyond the trap Magneto, Mystique, and Charles had fallen into. But Arctic was hurt - and if it had failed, your gamble for everyone’s lives would’ve died right then. You’d slipped despite your good intentions anyway, just like in Morlock City. You were a slow learner.

But you _learned_.

“...She’s right,” you set your face into a hard mask, half a scowl creasing your brow and lips. “We aren’t abandoning them. But our options only go so far. We’re already down one man, which means we have less firepower and less support. Once the fighting really gets underway, we need to focus on our own survival first - if we don’t get the intel out, then more people than the mutants here will die. It’ll be Morlock City next. Other concentration bases. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands.”

You look again to the cages. “It’s better that we choose to save some and succeed, than try to save them all and fail. But...” But how could you possibly choose to let any of these people die? A coin toss? Luck of the draw?

No. You would just have to _decide_ and let things unfold as they would.

“Shadowcat, I need you to hit as many cells as you can within the next two minutes - including that one,” you point at Gambit, Piper, and Rickard’s shared cell. “Warn them that help is here and to be ready to rock n’ roll or tuck and cover. Then, when the signal comes, start dragging those power armored fucks right into the dirt.”

“Cyclops, you’re the wide range artillery: aim for clusters of Sentinels and soldiers. Do what you can to avoid the civilians. Havok, you focus on individuals - you’re precision. While he’s hitting groups, you hit the troops too close to risk heavy shrapnel or concussion waves. I’ll get in close and do my thing. And break open as many of those cages as I can. Cat, you help me with that or phase people out - whichever’s fastest.”

“We engage for as long as we can, get as many as we can...” you pause. “Then we bug out with our rescues and the data. Whatever it takes.”

The group nods and Shadowcat departs quickly, working to warn as many of the prisoners as she could before the time was up and all hell broke loose. The two brothers spoke in low tones to each other, ironing out the details of their specific tactical approaches, the older brother bestowing some last-minute advice.

_"I'm here,"_ Annabelle greets grimly through the communicator _. "We've got three minutes before the Sentinels are here. What's the situation?"_

“One hundred and fifty captives. Thirty Sentinels, four power armor units, eight standard grunts,” you inform rapidly. “We’re going to grab as many as we can, but we’ve got a short time window. We need fire support and evac both - teleport as many as you can out into better cover. Our people outside can support them better than we can here. Maybe they can even help fight.”

_"What about the C &C?"_ Kurt asks. _"We need the element of surprise."_

“Right. But if it’s a choice between a harder fight for the intel later or saving a few of these people now while we can, I know which side of the line I’m on. We can’t save them all, but if we don’t try to save any...” you let that sink in. “But you’re right. C&C needs to be hit as well. With the right people, it can be done simultaneously.”

You reconsider your assets. “...Havok. I want you to keep command on this. When Annabelle gets here, you, your brother, and her will do what’s needed to save these people. Whoever you can, but if things get too hot or anything else comes up, you withdraw.”

You raise a hand to your ear. “Shadowcat, hit those power armor guys like we planned. Make things easier for them. Then catch up with me on the way to the C&C. We’ll hit it together.”

You turn to Havok and Cyclops. “You’re up for this?” It’s not really a question. But it does need an answer.

"I've done much worsel" Cyclops replies stoically, shrugging. "This doesn't faze me. We'll get it done."

Havok glances at his little brother for a moment before locking eyes with you and nodding. "Go do what you need to do. I've got this under control."

_"What should I be doing?"_ Kurt asks over the communicator.

“You’re with me, on standby. Two teams, three people. Once we get the intel, someone has to be in place to get us out before we get swarmed. Annabelle can do the same for Havok’s team. In the meantime, help everyone get into escape position.”

The team signals back their assent. There's only a few moments before the Sentinels and Magneto launch their attack.

For Cyclops, a nod. You slap Havok on the shoulder. “See you on the other side.”

Then you turn your back and begin to run, breath steady as your stride lengthens and the adrenaline begins pumping.

Ready or not - here you came.

It's not long before you arrive at the entrance to the C&C, not far from the utility access point you had teleported into. Alarms begin to blare, with stern voices shouting out orders and alerts. The attack was going in full swing. Walking up to the doors, you found they opened automatically for you, allowing you to enter the command and control.

"Well, I guess that fattened calf isn't off the hook now, is it," a voice remarks over the intercom as you step through the threshold…a familiar voice, now older and wearied from the intervening years. "The Prodigal Son is on his way home."

Silverfox stood in the center of the room, a metal-clad claw popped from each hand as she stared you down impassively. On a large screen nearby you saw Stryker's aged visage, smiling in that half-cocked way you realized you were coming to loath.

"Hello, Wolverine," he greets sardonically. "I guess Zero talked. Shame."

Stryker...your thoughts seethe. The man himself, safe behind a video feed. You wonder if he’d ever gotten his hands dirtier than indirectly since Vietnam. Not that it mattered. You keep your eyes on Silverfox, your own claws at the ready. A sly smile spreads over your lips, not at all for her sake. “Little Willy Stryker...” you reply, every bit as coy for his sardonic attitude. Victor would be flattered at the imitation. “It’s nice to see you again. Speaking of sons - how _are_ those boys of yours? Still the world’s number one dad?”

You don’t know why you ask - maybe it’s just picking up on the only conversation you remember. Maybe it’s a deep instinct inside, the same that you’d relied on to get you this far since waking up in that damned dank bunker.

But you bet the answer will sour that smirk.

Stryker's smirk _does_ disappear as he studies you quietly. "You know, I've got a theory of sorts about you boys. You and Victor..." he speaks softly, his languid accent contrasting his cold anger. "The... _unique_ problems you and he faced. How we ultimately arrived at the solution to those problems. But it's interesting how neither of you have changed my entire life. Not how you look, not how you are...no. You always had a soft spot in that beastly heart of yours. He was always a vicious bastard. Nothing ever changed. I was a young man when we met, and now I'm an old man. But I've changed...” Stryker chuckles. “Oh, I've _changed_ , Wolverine."

"I'm not surprised by this bravado. Oh, no – it's...to be expected," he nods in self-agreement. "But perhaps you ought to think twice before coming after the man who's been watching you for his entire life. I know you better…well, _almost_ as well as you know yourself." He smiles once more, in a paternal way. "Think about it, Wolverine. We'll talk more when you get here."

The feed cuts out, and Silverfox hits a button on a nearby console - ejecting a disk which she places in her back pocket. "Weapon X does not concede the battlefield," she states coolly. "Your forces are to leave, immediately. You will surrender to our authority."

You stare at your opponent – a former battle partner, once – blankly. With just a single move, Stryker had taken your steadiness of mind and upended it over itself. He was taunting you with an easy out, confident that you would take the disk and leave.

And you couldn’t just dismiss that out of hand.

X-Force was here, committed and ready to fight to the finish for the data. Assuming it was accurate, and you suspected it was if only for Stryker’s desire to get all the rebel elements in one place he controlled...none of your people had to die.

Arctic had given so much to get you here. To get you this information. If you risked losing it all, if you got his friends killed when you could’ve spared them.

No. You can’t. You _can’t_. Piper was down there. Gambit and Rickard, you didn’t know. But she had been decent to you. One hundred and fifty mutants were there, too, and they were going to _suffer_ and _die_ without your help.

But when you try to summon their faces, they remain blank. Distant. Even Victor and Romulus remain closer, as painful as it is to think of them now.

Silverfox raises an eyebrow, waiting for your answer.

Arctic. Gasping and mutilated on the shore.

You blink.

Arctic. Iceman. Bobby.

If he was here...you knew what he would say. What he’d tell you. He’d say that the people held prisoner were just as important as him. More, maybe. That was why he fought - to save lives. To be a big goddamn hero.

Everyone in X-Force had their reason to fight. It wasn’t all on you to protect them. They were doing this because they wanted a better world. Because sometimes, you had to give one life to save a hundred. Or ten lives to save one-hundred-fifty.

You think you finally understand Magneto.

“Hey, Fox,” you ask quietly. “One question. Were we ever friends?”

"I think we were, once. Before you became that thing," she replies softly, taking a step towards you. "Before I became what I am. Before we signed our souls away, I suppose."

You take a single step forward, matching hers. “I took my choice back. You can, too. We don’t have to do this.”

"Funny, Stryker said you'd say that," she raises her claws. "This isn't Adamantium, but it'll still sting like hell, James."

Silverfox pauses for a moment, before smiling. "But he also told me you're a real sucker."

The floor opens up beneath you, plummeting you downwards!

However, the fall doesn't take you far - you come to a probably only one story below, hanging over a dark room. From this point, you could see there were multiple of those hatches in the ceiling of this room, likely for moving supplies upwards to the hangar.

"I thought you might like to meet a friend, Wolverine," your opponent comments from above. "He said he's been wanting a rematch."

From below, yellow eyes light up the darkness and a sonic shriek blasts you back up and into the control room. You collapse against a bank of computers, sparks and smoke flying around you as the Banshee Sentinel flies up and lands next to Silverfox.

"Mutant: Wolverine identified." The Sentinel declares, menace in its synthesized voice. "Attack patterns analyzed from prior encounter."

A shuddering explosion elsewhere in the facility causes dust to fall from the ceiling. Silverfox glances up, frowning. "Stryker wants him alive," she commands the machine. "Put him down for now, but don't make it permanent."

"Acknowledged." The Sentinel confirms.

 “Grrrrh...!” you snarl, forcing yourself to your feet as rage - and humiliation - tremble in your muscles. “Thanks. That little trick just made what I have to do to you _so much easier.”_ You don’t need to win, of course – all you need to do is hold out. Your back-up will be coming soon, someone Stryker couldn’t possibly have accounted for.

But first...

You draw your pistol and shoot off a shot aimed for the Banshee’s head, in motion and prepared to dodge. The laser bolt flies true, scoring the metallic surface and drawing an annoyed noise from the machine. It counterattacks immediately, unleashing another sonic screech that obliterates the computers where you had just been standing. Silverfox holds back, watching you carefully and waiting for an opening. She wasn't going to rush in and let the sentinel blast her from behind.

You keep up your fire on the Sentinel, careful to keep both it and Silverfox between you...until suddenly you dart forward! She can either keep away from you and avoid crossfire, or engage and ensure it either fires and hits you both or holds back. You’re angled in such a way that an immediate back step will draw her dangerously close - perhaps on top of - a trap door.

The woman’s gaze narrows and she cartwheels to the side, twisting to try and sweep your legs while the sentinel pivots to blast your head - it wouldn't be so easy to take a trained veteran of Weapon X by surprise.

_"This is Annabelle,"_ your communicator barks. _"We've gotten some of the prisoners to a transport, but we're taking heavy fire."_ An explosion rattles the feed. _"Cyclops is down, Shadowcat is on her way to you. We've got to go as soon as possible."_

You’re a little busy at the moment - you take a shot at the Bandhee’s shoulder pauldron as you leap to avoid the sweep, a spot you know it won’t penetrate...but then, you’re not trying to. At this angle, it might....!

The shot sizzles through the air, pinging off the pauldron and snagging Silverfox in the side, making her stumble backwards and favoring her side. "Dammit." She grumbles, clutching the burning flesh for a moment before drawing her hand away...and before your eyes, the wound begins to close and heal. Still, it bought you some space.

You hesitate for a split second as you realize Wade wasn’t the only person to be enhanced after all – then dodge another Banshee blast. Right. Focus.

You crack open the slot holding the pistol’s renewable energy cells, exposing them…

And throw the weapon at the Banshee just as you suspect it will fire!

"I told you, we all became something different." Silverfox straightens up as she speaks, only for her eyes to widen as she jumps for cover! The pistol explodes with a violent pop, knocking the Sentinel back a few steps. When the thick black smoke clears, half of its helmet has been blasted off, exposing the more delicate workings beneath.

_"GGhkk..."_ It reaches up, touching its vocal modulator - damaged. Main weapon? Disabled. It's still an Alpha Sentinel, though, rolling forward and delivering an absolutely withering hail of blows towards your face. As you try to dodge and weave, Silverfox comes running in to stab you from behind, only for a shadowy figure to rocket out from the floor, delivering an uppercut that sends the Weapon X agent twirling backwards.

You grin, even as the Banshee ups its barrage. “You’re right - we’ve _all_ changed. Shadowcat – _Molerat_!”

Kitty disappears into the floor, dragging you down with her. Readjusting her angle and velocity, she phases upwards, launching you towards an unsuspecting Banshee! Your arm is cocked back, muscles tense and bulging with explosive power that is suddenly released when you swing with a feral scream, all you need to decapitate this motherfucker.

The damaged neck is scythed apart, shredding the Sentinel's exposed systems and cleaving head from body. When you land, the head is not far behind, clanging to the ground a few feet from your crouched form. When you rise, Silverfox is nowhere to be seen. Looks like she bolted.

But ah, the prize..was gone too.

"Looking for this?" Shadowcat rises up, casually holding the disk between her fingers. "I spotted it on her before I engaged and grabbed it when she was dived for cover. She never even realized it was gone."

You laugh, unsurprised but pleased nonetheless. “Cat got the canary. I was hoping.”

Sheathing your claws, you extend a hand. “Give a guy a lift?” You point up to the trap doors on the ceiling, which will take you both to the hanger.

"We've got a faster ride." She chuckles, signaling Nightcrawler. The blue mutant **_bampfs_** in and grabs you, teleporting you up to the large transport which was already about to take off.

"Everyone's on board, let's get the hell out of here, Annabelle!" he shouts at his sister, who immediately punches it. "This is Nightcrawler to all X-Force operatives, we are leaving the building!"

The aircraft rumbles as it takes off, clearing the opening and rising above the forested island...where it seemed a small war had happened, as laser fire seared across the open plain between the compound and the tree line. Magneto and Angel swooped in, carrying Arctic with them as they got onboard.

You find Cyclops being tended to by Piper and one of the other mutants – he was missing part of his ear and his right side was burned and mauled by shrapnel. Must have been caught in an explosion.

Havok ran past you and the last two aboard to the edge of the plane's gangplank, powering up a blast that would level the central column of the station. Without speaking a word, you could see him screaming in his eyes that he didn't care anymore about innocent or guilty...he just wanted to make these bastards _pay_ for what happened to his little brother.

In mere moments, you saw the horrors of the Triskelion recreated as Havok screamed with rage, unleashing a fiery beam that burned metal and melted stone. When his work was done, his uniform was in tatters and he stumbled backwards, falling unconscious into Kurt's arms.

Shadowcat pulls her legs on quietly and slots the disk into a handheld device. "Let's fire this thing up and see whether or not all of this was worth it." She mutters, pulling up the intel. You stand beside her, hardening your heart to Havok’s pain, and his brother’s...and those you left behind. There will be time for guilt later.

[As she opens up the data, multiple files open at once, popping all across the screen, forcing her to sort through them with an annoyed expression.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9c2ZJPKz5u8) "That's odd...alright, I think we're getting somewhere here. Coordinates..."

The screen flickered and recalibrated for a moment and her scowl deepens. "Piece of junk. Alright, loading those into the geospatial tracking software..."

The computer processes the coordinates for a few moments, a bar loading across the screen until a result appears, flickering to life.

Alkali Lake, deep in the Canadian Rockies. Seeing the name sends your world spinning on end, darkness encroaching on your vision as you vividly remember...

_Bubbling metal, green lights, searing fire across your bones..._

"James...?" Shadowcat's voice is distant in your ears. "JAMES!" She shouts as you collapse backwards, unconscious.


End file.
